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Duchamp & Androgyny: The Concept and its Context

Click to enlarge
Man Ray, Rrose SĂ©lavy
Figure 1
Man Ray, Rrose SĂ©lavy (alias Marcel Duchamp), 1921

(Author’s note: The following article consists of the first three chapters of the forthcoming Duchamp & Androgyny: Art, Gender, & Metaphysics. For further information, please contact: lgraham@csuhayward.edu)

The Artist & The Androgyne


click to enlarge
Nude Descending
Figure 2
Marcel Duchamp, Nude
Descending A Staircase
, No. 2, 1912
L.H.O.O.Q.
Figure 3
Marcel Duchamp, L.H.O.O.Q.,1919

Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968) is best known for a painting called Nude Descending a Staircase of 1912, a painting that helped to introduce Modern Art to New York with a bang in 1913. (Fig. 2)Almost as famous is his humorous act of putting a mustache and goatee on a reproduction of Leonardo’s Mona Lisa in 1919. (Fig. 3)

Duchamp is widely thought of as the “Daddy of Dada,” as that movement developed during World War I, and as the “Grandpa of Pop,” as Pop Art developed during the 1950s and 1960s, as well as the “Conceiver of Conceptual Art.” He was all that and more. During the first half of the twentieth century, Picasso and Matisse usually were thought of as the most influential “Artists of the Century.” That evaluation has now changed. Looking back over the last hundred years as a whole, Duchamp now is widely regarded as the most influential artist of the century.

With remarkable spontaneity and seemingly effortless ease, he put forth a lifelong series of revolutionary objects and attitudes including a remarkable non-attachment to fame or fortune. His modesty astonished everyone who knew him, while his ideas have inspired countless artists. Duchamp’s influence, which started during the period of Dada & Surrealism, continued to grow during the Abstract Expressionist era of Pollock and de Kooning and the Neo-Dada era of Johns and Rauschenberg. It is often said that there are few major artists of the last fifty years who were not influenced by Duchamp in one way or another. His influence continues to expand in ever widening waves around the world today.

He gave new status to artists by saying art is whatever an artist says is art, not what critics say art is. In a world that had come to rely too much on reason, he emphasized the intuitive side of our brain by his explorations of chance and open-endedness, an open-endedness that said the viewer is the co-creator of every work of art. In short, he democratized art in a new way.

Duchamp also was fascinated by science, especially electromagnetism. What electromagnetic energy is, and how it moves through our bodies and throughout the universe, occupied much of his thinking. Any number of his works bring together left-brain science with right-brain visualizations, not as scientific statements but as playful parodies of science.


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The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors
Figure 4
Marcel Duchamp, The Bride
Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors,
Even
, 1915-1923

 

In another famous work called The Bride Stripped Bare By Her Bachelors, Even, (Fig. 4) 1915-1923 (or “The Large Glass,” as it came to be called), the Bride and the Bachelors are divided and never touch, yet they are connected by “wireless” energy. He later used telephone lines to symbolize this flowing of love-energy back and forth, and reminded us that people, not communication systems, are the real “media.”

He grew tired of art that appeals only to the eye, and worked to elevate contemporary art above the merely visual and physical to the level of the metaphysical. His philosophical statements are among the most profound in the history of art.

Nevertheless, his verbal and visual statements often are surrounded and penetrated by humor. His wisdom comes wrapped in a smile. By using a good many words with his images, and by leaving meanings open-ended, he required that we think and feel at the same time. There was method to this left-brain/right-brain approach to experience.

He based much of his work on the ideal of Androgyny (true male-female balance). Bringing together within ourselves the so-called “male” capacity to be rational and the so-called “female” capacity to be intuitive is the stated goal of the meditative traditions within Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. This dynamic harmony is said to be a key to Enlightenment.

Enlightenment (as they understood it) became the objective of many modern artists in their non-religious quest for wholeness, their secular search for the sacred. However, few if any were able to attain this ideal. Various kinds of self-centeredness got in the way. Duchamp was not without shortcomings (especially in his early years) and may not have attained total selflessness, but he seems to have come closer than most. Whatever his limitations, Duchamp was widely regarded by major artists on both sides of the Atlantic ocean as a highly “evolved” human being – perhaps not fully enlightened, but more so than anyone else they were likely to meet.

In place of the usual (and often egocentric) insistence on self-expression in art, Duchamp pointed out that self-centeredness can be removed from the artistic process, or at least moved off-center. With his “ready-mades” (anonymous manufactured objects he selected and signed), he generated the idea of art-without-artists, and thus opened even further the opportunity for image-making to everyone. Selecting, he said, is a creative act. Moreover, by often replicating his earlier works as editions of multiples, his concept of “self” moved even further away from the object and opened out toward the not-self. The unification of self and not-self is the aim of traditional metaphysical philosophy.

While emphasizing concepts and deprecating the “retinal,” he never lost respect for well-crafted quality. His objects were made with loving care, as were his relationships with others. Duchamp celebrated human nature in general and the erotic impulse in particular, advising above all loving and being loved. He also thought of the relationship between art and life as a kind of oneness. And all along the way he recommended laughter.

Many books and exhibition catalogues have been devoted to Duchamp. Some think there is nothing more to be said. However, there are neglected areas, for example, his metaphysical philosophy. In part, this is because formalist art history, which dominated most of the twentienth century, had no interest in metaphysics. As a rule, the philosophy of artists has been studied only by post-formalist art historians in recent decades.

This book is an exploration of the metaphysical realm of Duchamp’s thought. At the core of this exploration is an analysis of the symbolism of “androgyny.” Why? Because, as I hope to demonstrate, this underexplored theme was central to his work from the 1910s to the 1960s, and was a direct expression of his metaphysical thinking.

What is the meaning of “androgyny”? Several quite different definitions of “androgyny” are in use today. The most superficial definitions have been popularized by Hollywood films, where the term usually refers to “women who act like men,” or “men who dress like women,” or someone whose physical features make it unclear whether that person is male or female. A less superficial use of the term is used in the gay and lesbian community where people often call themselves “androgynes,” feeling a special kinship with the ancient Greek world where homosexuality was common and considered natural.

The modern term “androgyne” comes from the Greek language and combines words meaning man [andros] and woman [gune]. Many gay, lesbian, bisexual, and intersexual people celebrate a psychology which combines elements usually thought of as male with elements usually thought of as female.

In biology and botany, “androgyny” identifies plants and animals who have the capacity to change sex or to fertilize themselves. In the medical community, the term “androgyny” is used for people who are born with ambiguous genitalia, or (in very rare instances) are born with both a sexually functional penis and a sexually functional vagina. More often than not, such intersexual individuals are called hermaphrodites.

“Hermaphrodite” is another Greek term that combines the name of the god Hermes with the name of the goddess Aphrodite. It is an oddity of history that the Greeks worshipped deities who were double-sexed, as did many people around the world. However, if a Greek child was born with double genitalia s/he was killed as a monster.

There is another definition of “androgyny,” one that is much older than any of those in common use today, one that is not even found in most dictionaries. This metaphysical definition is even older than the civilizations of Greece and Egypt. It goes back to the Stone Age, but seldom is discussed in scholarship today except by historians of mythology and religion.

The great World Religions of today usually are identified as Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. All of them have some of their roots in the spiritual traditions of our Stone Age ancestors who, for thousands of years, venerated the Androgyne as a deity. The public (or exoteric) doctrines and rituals of today’s World Religions usually make no reference to the Androgyne or Androgyny. However, the ancient Androgyne has endured as the image of a spiritual goal in the contemplative (or esoteric) teachings of all these religions–teachings traditionally available only in monastic settings for people who have made a total commitment to self-transformation in order to be greater service to the world.

Everyone interested in comparative religion is familiar with the symbolism of Yin-Yang in Taoism, Shiva-Shakti in Hinduism, Yab-Yum in Tibetan Buddhism, etc. These unusual symbols of oneness/two-ness are not limited to Asian religions. All World Religions symbolize themselves with visual forms that have a double structure. Consider the double triangle of Judaism, the star & crescent of Islam, and the horizontal & vertical elements of the Christian Cross.

As with all mythological symbols, there are many levels of symbolism associated with these images of what might be described as bi-singularity. Among the most commonly discussed are the relationships between the tribe and the transcendent, between the individual and the divine, between male and female, between active and receptive, between spirit and matter, etc.

Among historians of sacred symbolism, it is widely accepted that these images symbolize both the appearance of duality (to ordinary ways of looking) and the larger truth of nonduality – the ultimate cosmic unity of all reality. In short, these double-images of nonduality represent a basic metaphysical teaching: what may seem to be two-ness actually is oneness when seen from a higher level of perception.

There are a handful of symbols that have been used in World Religions for many centuries to represent universal unity. One of the best known is the image of the circle-square usually called a “Mandala,” from the Sanskrit term for sacred circle or sacred space. Generally speaking, the square stands for matter, or the material world of forms, while the circle stands for the infinite spirit that surrounds and permeates all forms. Less widely known is the traditional image of the Androgyne in which maleness and femaleness are combined in a single human figure. In the traditional literature, the term Androgyne is capitalized because of its transcendent meaning. So it will be in this book when that specific meaning is intended.

While the Mandala image represents a condition, the condition of cosmic unity, the Androgyne image represents one who has continuous awareness of this unity and therefore is said to have “cosmic consciousness.” In the public art of Taoism, Hinduism, and Buddhism, for example, Androgynous deities often are shown as part male & part female. In the esoteric art of these traditions, the teaching is that not only deities but human beings can have this transcendent consciousness. Illustrations of traditional Androgyne art appear in Chapter Two. A bibliography of the comparatively new field of Androgyny Studies is at the end of this book.

A rounded view of this primal meaning of Androgyny, and how Duchamp used his understanding of that meaning in his work, is the subject of this book. Our point of departure is a conversation I had with Duchamp when I was a young curator at New York’s Museum of Modern Art. Here is part of what was said:

LG:
May we call your perspective Alchemical?
MD:
We may. It is an Alchemical understanding. But don’t stop there! If we do, some will think I’ll be trying to turn lead into gold back in the kitchen [laughing]. Alchemy is a kind of philosophy, a kind of thinking that leads to a way of understanding.
We may also call this perspective Tantric (as Brancusi would say), or (as you like to say) Perennial. The Androgyne is not limited to any one religion or philosophy. The symbol is universal. The Androgyne is above philosophy. If one has become the Androgyne one no longer has a need for philosophy.
(1)

Androgyny & Perennial Philosophy

“It is essential…to undertake the reconstruction of the primordial
Androgyne that all traditions tell us of…within ourselves.”

– – AndrĂ© Breton, On Surrealism in its Living Works (1953)

Duchamp was so full of humor that many overlook how philosophical he also was. When asked what adjective would best describe his work, Duchamp replied: “metaphysical if any.”(2) From an early period, his primary purpose seems to have been first to find the transcendent, and then, as an artist, to suggest the transcendent realities of metaphysical truth. He phrased his transcendental goal in various ways. For example, “…art is an outlet toward regions which are not ruled by time and space.”(3) He later said: “…the artist acts like a mediumistic being who, from the labyrinth beyond time and space, seeks his way out to a clearing.”(4)


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Portrait of Dr. Dumouchel
Figure 5
Marcel Duchamp,Portrait
of Dr. Dumouchel
, 1910

One of the earliest indications of Duchamp’s interest in the esoteric was his 1910 portrait of his friend, Dr. Dumouchel, showing an aura around his body, an aura that is particularly luminous around his healing hands(Fig. 5). How Duchamp came to be interested in esoteric ideas is unclear. Might it have have been after reading some books about Theosophy or Alchemy? Perhaps. The subject requires further study. However his interest in metaphysics began, that interest obviously was strong about 1910-11 when his art was moving from Fauvism toward Cubism and beyond. While Duchamp was not interested in metaphysical systems, he was very interested in metaphysical thinking – the kind of thinking that moves the mind beyond duality towards what he described as “regions which are not ruled by time and space.”

His way of thinking about metaphysical symbols was not part of a system but does parallel what is known as Perennial Philosophy. Perennial Philosophy is so called because it seems to have been present for as long as there has been philosophy, and because it has continued to appear century after century in Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.(5) All these traditions have their own uniqueness. Many of their public or exoteric beliefs are different from one another. Nevertheless, students of comparative religion have found that there is a body of esoteric beliefs that is common to all of them. This common core of understanding is now widely known as Perennial Philosophy. Here is a concise summary:

Beneath, beyond, around, and through all manifested reality is an invisible reality that is formless. It also is infinite, eternal, luminous, and loving. In Western traditions, this is often called the Ground-of-Being, or Unconditioned Consciousness. As a rule, only a few are aware of this transcendent reality continuously. Ordinary egocentricity prevents the possibility of such awareness. Most people suffer all through life because they are bound within a self-referential psychology. This prison of the ego, this shell of selfishness, also prevents people from understanding what life can be like if one is ego-free, free to be world-centered rather than self-centered, free to be all-loving rather than loving only one’s self. Selfish desires condition consciousness and cause constant suffering. There are many ways to break through this egocentric shell and begin to “glimpse light through the cracks.” Every tradition has its own methods.

Enlightenment or Illumination are names given to breaking through to a higher level of awareness. Breaking through, it is said, often takes place slowly, gradually, in painful stages. In the language of Tantric Hinduism and Tantric Buddhism, one moves up through chakras to higher levels of awareness. There are parallel stages of development in Christian Alchemy and Jewish Kabbalah.

Semi-Enlightened stages include proto-Androgynous awareness of dualities reconciling, of male and female elements uniting. In Alchemy what results from this Mystic Marriage is the Androgyne whose Golden Consciousness transforms life. Is the situation similar in yoga? Mircea Eliade reports that it is: “The union of the divine pair within his own body transforms the yogi into [an] ‘androgyne’.” (6)

How old are such teachings in the West? Certainly there was Androgynous thinking in early Christianity, long before medieval Alchemists focused on the image of the Androgyne. In one of Paul’s letters in the New Testament he states that, after Baptism, “There is neither… male nor female, for ye are all one in Jesus Christ.”(7) According to another early Christian document, the Second Epistle of Clement, when Jesus was asked at what moment the Kingdom of Heaven would come, the answer was: “When the two shall be one, the outside like the inside, the male with the female neither male nor female.”(8) Probably even older is the Jewish oral tradition recorded in the Zohar of the Kabbalah: “It behooves a man to be ‘male and female’ always….”(9) It would be a mistake to think Androgyny is only an old ideal; its reality is very much alive. Consider, for example, this testimony from the contemporary Chinese Zen master Chuan Yuan Shakya. She recently reported: “Zen masters treat any monk who attains androgyny as if he were truly royal.”(10)

The Perennial Traditions teach that even higher levels of consciousness exist beyond Androgyny. To suggest the nature of the “beyond” there is a special metaphor in Zen. Enlightenment or Satori is described as “entering the stream.” At a higher stage one “becomes the water.” The first step towards transcending the Little Self, and attaining totally fluid consciousness, is realizing there is more to life than the realm of the senses, the realm of self-satisfaction, the realm of space and time. Beyond space and time, where rational analysis and sense perceptions work, is the realm of eternity. According to Perennial Philosophy, eternity is not a long time; eternity is beyond time. Illuminated awareness is said to take place when time and timelessness are linked permanently, when the finite and the infinite always are perceived as aspects of each other continuously commingling, when the world and Nothingness are one.


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The Chess Players
Figure 6
Marcel Duchamp, The Chess Players,
etching of 1965, after
a drawing of 1911

Such teachings were very important to many major artists of Modernism in their secular search for the spiritual. Artists of the Surrealist era were especially interested in various esoteric traditions from Alchemy to Zen. One of these artists was Duchamp. If he had not had some kind of insight into the nature of the transcendent realm, Duchamp might well have continued as a follower of the Cubists, as in his quasi-Cubist composition of 1911 The Chess Players (Fig. 6). Chess was his favorite game, and he worked out many pictorial space-time problems


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Bride
Figure 7
Marcel Duchamp,Bride, 1912

around this theme. But he soon saw all this “retinal art” (as he called it) as extremely limited. He wanted to return art to something that could be (as he said) “at the service of the mind.”(11)

In 1912 came Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 and then the Bride(Fig. 7), as Duchamp rapidly moved past the last vestiges of Cubism toward purely mental, imaginary images. The new images start to center on semi-mechanical metaphors. In the process of changing styles, Duchamp was seriously questioning selfhood. He told Pierre Cabanne how much he had been regretting that art no longer had its traditional functions: “religious, philosophical, moral.”(12) He looked back on the Dada movement that developed during World War I as not just fun and games (even though that was a large part of it), but also as:

…an extreme protest against the physical side of painting.

It was a metaphysical attitude. … It was a way to get out of

a state of mind…to get free.

Dada was very serviceable as a purgative. And I think I was

thoroughly conscious of this at the time and of a desire to effect

a purgation in myself. … (13)

Duchamp also recalled : “My intention was always to get away from myself…”.(14)

It is said that once Little Self is out of the way, or at least set aside a bit, windows rapidly open toward hitherto unknown realms. One of the radical questions Duchamp was asking himself early on was, “Can one make works which are not works of ‘art’?”(15)

One of his radical answers was the revolutionary “ready-made”, which he described as “a work of art for which there is no artist.”(16) His ready-mades were industrial products that he selected and signed, declaring them works of art. He went on to redefine art in a highly democratic way by stating that art is whatever an artist says is art (not what critics say is art). Many critics still hate him for that. By removing the “artist” from the center of the concept of art, Duchamp also seems to have been removing the assumed importance of his own Little Self, and thus the whole ego-centered idea of self-importance and self-expression. In short, he seems to have been moving toward Androgyny.

There are a number of traditional indications of how much a person is self-centered. One is aggressiveness. Duchamp was anything but aggressive. He was gentle and humorous, confident and resolute; he never forced himself on others. Another traditional indication is how much money and material wealth one thinks one needs. Duchamp had little desire for money. His indifference to it was legendary. Duchamp owned very little. For most of his life what he owned would fit into a couple of suitcases and a few boxes. Another sign is whether or not one needs to dominate a conversation, and make others agree with you. Duchamp went out of his way to allow people their positions, as people, as artists, or as critics, even if he did not agree.

Was he also spontaneous and humorous? Yes. Indeed, he loved word-play and was an incurable punster. Another indication of Androgyny is said to be how much attention is paid to what others think of you, and how you treat other people. Duchamp seldom bothered to read what people wrote about him. Nor, for most of his life, did he feel the need to exhibit what he made. He did not have a retrospective exhibition until 1963. He also tried to live without selling his unique work, except to a few private patrons, by working in a library, teaching French, dealing Brancusi’s art, and selling multiples.

Was he also generous and supportive of others? Yes. Was he able to feel so deeply into the heart of other artists that even short conversations with him often were transformative experiences? Yes. Many artists have testified to that. Indeed it is often said that no major artist of the last fifty years was not affected by Duchamp to some degree. Several thick books could be written on that subject.

Was he also deeply involved with experiencing and communicating transpersonal truth? Very much so. Did he frequently point toward the transcendent in his work? Yes, as we shall see. According to the Perennial teachings, this is what Androgynous people do, and they do it with spontaneous fluidity and grace. Did his thoughts and actions proceed with unusual fluidity and grace? Yes. Here, for example, is an observation by Georgia O’Keeffe:

It was probably in the early twenties when I first saw Duchamp. …

I don’t remember seeing anyone else at the party, but Duchamp was there… .

I was drinking tea. When I finished he rose from the chair, took my teacup

and put it down at the side with a grace that I had never seen in anyone before

… . I don’t remember anything else about the party.(17)

Duchamp’s dear friend Beatrice Wood expressed the feelings of many: “He had the objectivity of a guru. His mind touched stillness, beholding the unity of life.”(18) Arturo Schwarz, his dealer and cataloger, said: “I dare say he was a guru, in the Indian sense of the word. He would not, of course, have favored being so called. … His simplicity was a way of being, modesty was never a pose with him, he was as natural as his breath. He was generous and understanding. … his advice could not have been wiser and his concern would never be merely skin deep.”(19)

The traditional teaching is that so long as one’s awareness is contained within the psychological sphere of the ego, one cannot see beyond the realm of space and time. However, Duchamp obviously was moving beyond that. He was very much involved with perceiving and evoking the realm he described as “beyond time and space.” If we assume that one has connected some of one’s personal, qualifying consciousness with the unqualified consciousness, how can one express the transcendent experience of those higher realities? Words work well to identify realities that exist inside the measurable world, the sphere of space and time. Beyond that sphere, any attempt to use words in the usual descriptive way is useless. How can one pictorialize the invisible? How to verbalize or visualize the transcendent are parallel problems. The most one can do is to suggest the transcendent with symbols and metaphors.

Much of Duchamp’s work appears to have been the result of his efforts to do just that. Yet he is dismissed by some as merely humorous if not nihilistic. If there is something more, how might we find the wisdom that he wrapped in so many smiles? My approach has been to listen closely to his words, examine the philosophical context in which he did much of his thinking, and then focus on a singular metaphor that he used regularly, the Androgyne. Such an analytical approach (alas) will be somewhat more linear and “heavier” than Duchamp’s light touch. Keep in mind that much of what he said was said with a smile, and that seems to be true of his visual work as well.

The Androgyne Before & After Duchamp

“The true mythical androgyne is equally male and female at the same time.”
Wendy Doniger, Women, Androgynes, & other Mythical Beasts (1980)

“…spiritual perfection consists precisely in rediscovering with oneself this androgynous nature.”
Mircea Eliade, The Two and The One (1969)

As already noted, certain sacred symbols have been in use continuously for centuries. Among the best-known are double images of nonduality, e.g., those by which world religions symbolize themselves: the Yin-Yang of Taoism, the Circle-Square (or Mandala) of Buddhism, the Double Triangle of Judaism, and the Cross of Christianity. As has been discussed, each symbol is both a two-ness and a oneness. All these double images are intended to remind us of the higher unity that transcends all forms of multiplicity. What seems to be two is one ultimately. Spirit and matter are one. Sky and Earth are one. Male and female are one.

All those double images of nonduality are rendered in a visual language that is geometric. Geometry as a sacred visual language did not become common until after the Old Stone Age. In other words, abstract geometric forms of this type are part of the settled, post-nomadic experience. There are other double-images images of nonduality which are much older, going back to the Old Stone Age. This group is pictorial, naturalistic, not geometric. The best known examples include the Double-Serpent, which began in the Paleolithic era and has continued into our time as the medical caduceus, and the Flying Serpent whose various forms include the Quetzalcoatl of the Aztecs, and the cosmic Dragons of Asia. The heavenly and the earthly are united in this symbol of what might be called bi-singularity.

The least known of these primordial pictorial symbols is the Androgyne – a single human body which is part-male and part-female. The Androgyne image also has been with us since the Paleolithic era. In Asia it is better known than in the West, where its history and meaning usually are studied only by students of sacred art, archeology, religion, and mythology. Like all works of sacred art, images of the Androgyne are teachings in and of themselves–visual expressions of metaphysical truth.


click to enlarge
Androgynes
Figure 8
Androgynes from Around The World:
Europe, India, China, the
Middle East, & the Americas

To introduce this mythic image – its structure, antiquity, and ubiquity – I prepared a digital collage of images from the tribal world to the modern world (Fig. 8). In this collage, we see a Stone Age work from North America, a Bronze Age image from the Near East, the Goddess Kuan Yin (with a mustache) from China, Shiva-Shakti from India, and an Alchemical Androgyne from Christian Europe. Each visual metaphor is different, but the essential teaching is the same. Nonduality refers to the highest possible level of human consciousness.

The purpose of an “illuminating image” is to illuminate. As an image that is a teaching, it can be approached in various ways. Monks can meditate deeply for years on the meaning of Androgyny as they work to become Androgynes themselves. For first-time viewers, the image can be quite shocking. It is a very irrational image. Logic cannot comprehend it. Happily, there are other ways of knowing.

A well-delivered shock can jolt the first-time viewers out of their habitual reliance on linear, left-brain logic. The experience can be like what happens when one tries to deal with a Zen koan, for example, trying to answer the question “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” When logic proves useless, one tends to shift into intuitive, right-brain modes of knowing. That is exactly what the abbot of every Zen koan monastery wants the monks to be doing.

Only when the intuition of the monks is as highly developed as their reasoning are they ready to graduate from the monastery and go out to be of service to the world. It is this internal harmony of the “male & female” within us, the “sun & moon” within us, reason and intuition within us, that makes possible the highest form of human wholeness, an Enlightened state of being. When Golden Consciousness emerges, according to the Perennial Philosophy, one is no longer self-serving, or able to love in only qualified ways. One exists for the benefit of others, and every act is an act of love.

We can also consider Androgyny from the perspective of modern brain science. At a 1978 conference of psychologists and anthropologists on bimodality I presented a paper demonstrating that there is a one-to-one relationship between how bilateral Androgyne images are rendered in sacred art and the left/right brain. His/Her left side (which actually is controlled by the right brain) always is female. His/Her right side (which actually is controlled by the left brain) always is male. Those present were as surprised as I was to see this relationship. Shortly thereafter I was invited to teach the history of sacred art at the California Institute of Asian Studies in San Francisco, where the faculty included respected practitioners of the major spiritual traditions.

I asked each of them if the newly discovered left/right brain is an appropriate metaphor for the Perennial teaching of integrating our rational and intuitive faculties in order to attain Enlightenment. Every teacher there, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, and Taoist, said yes–with the qualification that scientific understanding is only a partial understanding of traditional wisdom. A similar answer was given to me by a number of Tibetan Buddhists, including Lama Govinda, and the Venerable Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. These interviews supported my growing belief that the discovery of left/right brain was not a trivial fad in popular psychology but something of special importance for the modern world–a concrete, scientific way for anyone to start to think about the psychodynamics of Androgyny and striking confirmation of what Duchamp told me a decade earlier.


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Native American AndrogyneAfrican Androgyne
Figure 9
Native American
Androgyne, Stone Age type
Figure 10
African Androgyne
(Sudan), Stone Age type

To see in more detail how Androgyny has been symbolized in traditional sacred art, the following selection of images provides a general overview of the various types of Androgyne iconography that have been rendered around the world from the Stone Age to the present.(20) Representing the Stone Age is a painted image from North America. This figure has breasts and an erect phallus (Fig. 9). Among the neolithic tribes of Africa, it is typical to see images of the Androgyne with breasts and a beard (Fig. 10). That symbolism was continued by Bronze Age Egyptians. Other Bronze Age artists portrayed the Androgyne as a single body with male and female faces, often in association with the Double-Serpent and/or the Sun-Moon (Fig. 11). More widely published are Iron Age images of the Androgyne as a male-female with one breast, as Shiva-Shakti is often seen in Hindu India where there are more sculpted and painted Androgyne images than anywhere else (Fig. 12). In the esoteric tradition of Judaism, the image of Adam Kadmon is central to the Kabbalah (Fig. 13). In the esoteric tradition of Christianity, many versions of the Androgyne image fill Alchemical books and manuscripts of the Renaissance. There are more Androgyne images to be found in those books than anywhere else in the Western art of the modern era (Figs. 14 & 15; 16 & 17). In all these spiritual traditions, the Androgyne symbolizes both divinity among the Gods and Goddesses, and the possibility of psycho-cosmic wholeness here on earth.

click images to enlarge

  • Neo-Babylonian Androgyne
  • Hindu Androgyne
  • Jewish Androgyne
  • Figure 11
  • Figure 12
  • Figure 13
  • Neo-Babylonian Androgyne,
    Late Bronze Age/Early
    Iron Age type
  • Hindu Androgyne (Ardhanarisvara
    / Shiva-Shakti), Iron Age type
  • Jewish Androgyne (Adam Kadmon), Iron Age type

click images to enlarge

  • Christian
  • Androgynes
  • Figure 14
  • Figure 15
  • Christian
  • Androgynes (Alchemical), 17th century

click images to enlarge

  • Christian Androgynes
  • Christian Androgynes
  • Figure 16
  • Figure 17
  • Christian Androgynes (Alchemical),
    17th and 18th centuries
  • Christian Androgynes (Alchemical),
    17th & 18th centuries

Those traditional images, especially in Stone Age art and the Alchemical book illustrations of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, were the type of Androgyne images that were known to modern artists in the early twentieth century. Inspired by such images, artists of the Dada-Surrealist era rendered many contemporary variations on this ancient theme as they searched for Androgyny within themselves. A comprehensive survey would show how virtually every major artist of the Surrealist era focused on this iconography. What follows is a small selection of their Androgyne images. The dates range from 1916 to 1954. Most of the artists represented in this portfolio were friends of Duchamp.


click to enlarge
Paul Klee, Barbarian’s
Venus
Figure 18
Paul Klee, Barbarian’s
Venus
, 1921

BBarbarian’s Venus by Paul Klee (1879-1940) is one of the most “barbaric” Androgyne images of the era. She is a Venus with a penis(Fig. 18). Klee was not a member of the Surrealist circle, but sometimes exhibited with them. He was associated with Kandinsky and Marc in Munich in 1911 and 1912, then took from Cubism and Orphism the concept of fluctuating planes. Klee was thought by some to be an Alchemist when he discussed the Absolute, Nothingness, and the Ground of Being. His students at the Bauhaus (only half in jest) called him “Heavenly Father.” He was one of the first modern artists to explore Androgyny in tribal art.


click to enlarge
Constantin Brancusi,
Princess X
Figure 19
Constantin Brancusi,
Princess X, 1916

Constantin Brancusi (1876-1957) was a very close friend of Duchamp. He studied Androgyne symbolism first in Theosophy and then in the tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. A book of Tibetan teachings was on his bedside table for many years. He and Duchamp worked together, played together, and seem to have shared many ideas about the etheric, the infinite, and the Androgynous. Such concepts were central to both artists. In 1916 Brancusi sculpted Princess X (Fig. 19). Most of the critics of the time did not like it. It was too abstract. One was particularly offended by the phallic form. Similar criticism greeted Brancusi’s most famous work, “Bird in Space.” Brancusi called it “Bird of the Ether” because the upward thrust is toward the etheric realm, beyond the realm of space and time, the realm that only Androgynous consciousness can reach. In spite of the phallic interpretations of many viewers, “Bird of the Ether” clearly is about not sexuality but transcendence.


click to enlarge
Jean Arp, DemeterJean Arp, Idol
Left :Figure 20
Jean Arp, Demeter, 1960
Figure 21
Jean Arp, Idol, 1950

Jean (Hans) Arp (1888-1966) often read Alchemical texts by Jacob Boehme and felt art should lead beyond self-expression to spirituality. He and his good friend Max Ernst made sure this attitude was part of the Dada movement and early Surrealism. Later he was deeply inspired by Brancusi’s fluid style. He carved a number of beautiful Androgynes. His Demeter makes use of the traditional Iron Age symbolism of the Goddess-God with one breast (Fig. 20). For his Idol (Fig. 21) Arp seems to have gone farther back in time for his iconography, back to the Androgyne symbolism of the Stone Age and Bronze Age, when it was not uncommon for idols to have an abstract female body and a tall abstract phallic neck/head (Figs. 22A &22B).

click images to enlarge

  • Old Stone Age figures
  • Old Stone Age
  • New Stone Age
  • Figure 22A
  • Figure 22B
  • Old Stone Age figures
    thought to be Androgynes
  • New Stone Age/Bronze
    Age figures thought to
    be Androgynes


click to enlarge
Joan MirĂł
Figure 23
Joan MirĂł, Dawn Perfumed
by a Shower of Gold
, 1954

Joan MirĂł (1893-1983) spoke of wanting his art to express the unity of the finite and the infinite. He was particularly interested in Stone Age art in his later years and used the ancient phallic neck/head symbolism of the Stone Age in his Androgynous painting “Dawn Perfumed by a Shower of Gold.” The lower part is quite female, while the upper part is quite male (Fig. 23).

Nudes, Rroses, etc.

“Is it a woman? No. Is it a man? No. …I have never thought which it is. Why should I think about it?”
Marcel Duchamp discussing his painting Nude Descending a Staircase of 1912

As we have seen, Duchamp was not the only artist of the Dada-Surrealist era interested in Androgyny. The image of the Androgyne was very important to many of the major artists in this circle. They talked about Androgynes in Alchemy, as well as in esoteric Hinduism and esoteric Buddhism wherein the Androgyne also is a primal symbol for Enlightened consciousness. They knew what the Androgyne is, and considered it the ideal condition of human awareness. This is not to say that all these artists actually attained Androgyny, but only to indicate that Androgyny was, to a large extent, their common goal. Even though many Surrealist artists rendered images of the Androgynes and were working towards the condition of Androgyny within themselves, Duchamp devoted more years of his life to articulating images of the Androgyne than any other major artist of the twentieth century, with the possible exception of his good friend Max Ernst. More has been written about Duchamp’s Androgyne images than about anyone else’s modern Androgyne images, but the focus of most of the literature has been on gender issues not metaphysics. This book is about metaphysics.

Some would begin the list of Duchamp’s Androgyne images with Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 of 1912, his most famous painting. While most people simply assume the nude is female, a close examination reveals there is a gender question. Is the figure male or female? “Nu” in French can mean male or female, and the visual evidence is not conclusive. This very ambiguity is interpreted by some as being Androgynous, especially in light of the unusual way Duchamp responded to the gender question in a 1916 interview: “Is it a woman? No. Is it a man? No. To tell you the truth, I have never thought which it is. Why should I think about it?”(21) Some think the slightly later Bride also is an Androgyne image, but that depends largely on how one interprets The Large Glass.

Others would begin the list with L.H.O.O.Q. of 1919 where Duchamp added a mustache and beard to Leonardo’s “Mona Lisa,” having heard that Leonardo was homosexual. This modified ready-made clearly was intended as a joke, but it also clearly was a deliberate form of Androgyne imagery.


click to enlarge
FountainBottle Dryer
Figure 24
Marcel Duchamp, Fountain
, 1917 (1964 replica)
Figure 25
Marcel Duchamp, Bottle Dryer
, 1914 (1963 replica)

Some would begin the Androgyne list two years earlier with Fountain – the signed ready-made urinal of 1917(Fig. 24). To declare this plumbing fixture a work of art certainly was a striking challenge to the aesthetic sensibilities of the time, and for many still is a challenge. Even though it is now accepted as a work of art, what might be Androgynous about it? Several people interested in religion (as Duchamp himself was not) looked at this image in 1917 as an abstract form of Buddha or the Virgin Mary. Male Buddha/Holy Mother? Perhaps the combination of those two holy images would be an Androgyne? It would echo the ancient idea of Androgyny if the combination of Divine Mother/Divine Son were deliberate, but there’s no evidence that this was the case in Duchamp’s mind. Some (with a Freudian psychology) see this open receptacle as a female space into which a male enters. This may have been slyly sexual symbolism on Duchamp’s part, but the symbolism of common copulation is not the iconography of Androgyny. The same goes for the ready-made Bottle Dryer of 1914 (Fig. 25). Some see the elements that hold the drying bottles as male and the implied bottles as female. That symbolism may be humorously sexual, but it is not inherently Androgynous.

Not so with the gender-bending character Duchamp created as a female alter ego in 1920:Rrose SĂ©lavy. After his Mona Lisa of 1919, we find a string of Androgyne images in Duchamp’s work, some humorous, some serious. He worked on these Androgyne images every decade for the rest of his life. Rrose even “signed” a number of major objects, as well as most of his literary works over the next twenty years. Was Duchamp homosexual? No. Was he bisexual? No. Neither was he homophobic. He had any number of homosexual and bisexual friends. Did he dress in drag regularly? No – only when making a work of art (Figs. 26, 27, 28). This series of male-female images from 1919 to 1942 certainly was intended to be amusing, but they also publicly propagated the idea of Androgyny as “food for thought.” He did not stop thinking about the Androgyne. In 1946 Duchamp secretly began work on the monumental Androgyne image that would occupy him for most of the rest of his life.

click images to enlarge

  • Belle Haleine” Perfume Bottle
  • Exposition Internationale du SurrĂ©alisme
  • Compensation-Portrait
  • Figure 26
  • Figure 27
  • Figure 28
  • Marcel Duchamp, “Belle Haleine (Beautiful Breath)” Perfume Bottle, with a photograph of Rrose SĂ©lavy (alias Marcel Duchamp) by Man Ray pasted on, 1921
  • Marcel Duchamp, RROSE SÉLAVY in the “Exposition Internationale du SurrĂ©alisme,” Paris, 1938 (female mannequin half dressed in Duchamp’s
    clothing)
  • Marcel Duchamp, Compensation-Portrait in the exhibition “First Papers of Surrealism,” New York, 1942

An early examination of the Androgyne in Duchamp’s work was written by Arturo Schwarz in the 1960s. Some of the theoretical assumptions of Schwarz are quite strange, and have been rejected by a large number of Duchamp specialists. His articulation of the meaning of Androgyny is often imaginative and not always consistent. However, Schwarz deserves credit for his early attempt to bring Androgyny into the art-historical dialogue around Duchamp. He did so from the perspective of Alchemy, the basic principles of which he has articulated clearly. Here is a passage from his essay “The Alchemist Stripped Bare in the Bachelor, Even”:

“…for the adept to achieve higher consciousness means, in the first place, acquiring ‘golden understanding’ (aurea apprehensio) of his own microcosm and of the macrocosm in which it fits. It is in the course of his pursuit of the Philosopher’s Stone that he acquires this new awareness. Thus the quest is more important than its reward; as a matter of fact, the quest is the reward. Alchemy is nothing other than an instrument of knowledge – of the total knowledge that aims to open the way toward total liberation. … Individuation, in the alchemical sense, entails abolishing the conflicting male-female duality within the integrated personality… . Eliade has pointed out that ‘to be no longer conditioned by a pair of opposites results is absolute freedom’.”(22)

Some, including Schwarz, Jack Burnham, Ulf Linde, John F. Moffitt, and others, have worked hard to have us see Duchamp as an Alchemist. Duchamp, however, offered little support for this belief. Indeed, he made efforts to deny it. When I met Duchamp in 1967 I had been studying the symbolism of Alchemy for a number of years and suspected that he might be an actual Alchemist.

While it is true that the Androgyne is the goal of Alchemy, it is possible to have a particular interest in the Androgyne without being an Alchemist. I did not understand this at the time. Duchamp illuminated me. Here is how one of our conversations went:

LG:
It seems that almost from the beginning of your work as an artist, you have had a philosophical attitude toward what being an artist is. In one of your interviews with Sweeney, for example…, you describe Dada as a “metaphysical attitude.” What you have talked about and written is permeated with the thought-feelings of a philosopher. At the end of your 1956 interview with Sweeney, you spoke of art as a path “toward regions which are not ruled by time and space.”
MD:
Was that the one filmed in Philadelphia?
LG:
It was.
MD:
Yes. Perhaps that is about as much as you can say in a film being made for wide consumption. If one says too much more, the result is simply a great deal of misunderstanding. Understanding can only emerge from a co-experience, a non-verbal experience which the artist and the onlooker can share by means of aesthetic experience. So I leave the interpretation of my work to others.
LG:
Nevertheless, I think it would be correct to say that you regard the practice of art as a philosophical path toward that which is beyond time and space.
MD:
That is correct. That is my view, but only part of my view. My view is beyond and back. Some get lost “out there.” My frame of reference is out of the frame and back again.
LG:
That sounds like the dance of the finite and infinite, stepping back and forth between three dimensions and four dimensions, as Apollinaire or Mallarmé would say.
MD:
So it does. No one says it better than Mallarmé!
LG:
May we call your perspective Alchemical?
MD:
We may. It is an Alchemical understanding. But don’t stop there! If we do, some will think I’ll be trying to turn lead into gold back in the kitchen (laughing). Alchemy is a kind of philosophy, a kind of thinking that leads to a way of understanding.
We may also call this perspective Tantric (as Brancusi would say), or (as you like to say) Perennial. The Androgyne is not limited to any one religion or philosophy. The symbol is universal. The Androgyne is above philosophy. If one has become the Androgyne one no longer has a need for philosophy.
(23)

Notes


Footnote Return
1. Duchamp in conversation with Lanier Graham, 1968. Quoted in Graham, Marcel Duchamp: Conversations with The Grand Master (New York: Handmade Press, 1968) 3. For more of this conversation, see below, 5.  


Footnote Return
2. Duchamp in conversation with William Seitz, 1963. Quoted in “What’s Happened to Art?: An Interview with Marcel Duchamp” in Vogue (15 Feb. 1963) 113.  


Footnote Return
3. Duchamp in conversation with J. J. Sweeney, 1956. Quoted in Michel Sanouillet & Elmer Peterson, eds.,Salt Seller: The Writings of Marcel Duchamp (New York: Oxford University Press, 1973) 137. [hereafter “SS.”]  


Footnote Return4. Duchamp, “The Creative Act” – a talk in Houston at a meeting of the American Federation of Art, 1957. Quoted in Sanouillet 138.
  


Footnote Return
5. The best-known book on this subject is Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy (London: Chatto & Windus, 1946 & later editions). For a bibliography, see Lanier Graham, “The Perennial Philosophy: A General Bibliography” in Iconography of Infinity: Essays on Art & Philosophy, vol. 2, no. 1 (Spring 1993). The best-known twentieth century writers on this subject include Titus Burckhardt, A. C. Coomaraswamy, RĂ©nĂ© Guenon, Karl Jaspers, Frithjof Schuon, Huston Smith, Alan Watts, and Ken Wilber.  


Footnote Return
6. Eliade, The Two and The One (New York: Harper Torhbook, 1965) 118.  


Footnote Return
7. Galatians 3:28.  


Footnote Return
8. The Gospel of Thomas 22 in Doresse, Les Livres Secrets des Gnostiques d’Egypt, vol. 2 (Paris, 1959) 157.  


Footnote Return
9. Scholem, ed., Zohar: The Book of Splendor (New York: Schocken Books, 1977) 10.  


Footnote Return
10. Ruminations on Zen Cows, Part 4 (1998) 3 <www.HsuYun.org/Dharma/ZBOHY/zencows>.  


Footnote Return
11. Duchamp in conversation with J. J. Sweeney, 1946. Quoted in SS 125.  


Footnote Return
12. Duchamp in conversation with Pierre Cabanne. Quoted in Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp(New York: Da Capo Press, 1967) 43.  


Footnote Return
13. Duchamp in conversation with J. J. Sweeney, 1946. Quoted in SS 123.  


Footnote Return
14. Duchamp in conversation with Katharine Kuh. Quoted in Kuh, Artist’s Voice: Talks with Seventeen Artists (New York: Harper & Row, 1962) 82. Duchamp went on to add: “though I knew perfectly well that I was using myself. … Call it a little game between ‘I’ and ‘me’.” It would be interesting to collect all of Duchamp’s statements about ego, self, etc. Included would be the following from the Western Round Table on Modern Art, San Francisco, 1949: “…the ‘victim’ of an esthetic echo is in a position comparable to that of a man in love, or a believer, who dismisses automatically his demanding ego and…submits… “. Quoted in Clearwater, ed., West Coast Duchamp (Miami Beach, FL: Grassfield Press, 1991) 107 and 110; Also this statement: “And artists are such supreme egos! It’s disgusting.” Quoted in Tomkins, The Bride & The Bachelors (New York: The Viking Press, 1965) 67.  


Footnote Return
15. Duchamp. WB in SS 74  


Footnote Return
16. Duchamp in conversation with Francis Roberts. Quoted in “I Propose to Strain the Laws of Physics” inArtnews (Dec. 1968): 47. Duchamp questioned himself this way in a 1913 WB note; IBID., and soon developed the ready-made.  


Footnote Return
17. O’Keeffe, quoted in d’Harnoncourt and McShine, eds., Marcel Duchamp (Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1973) 212.  


Footnote Return
18. Beatrice Wood, “Marcel,” in Kuenzli and Naumann, eds., Marcel Duchamp: Artist of the Century(Cambridge: MIT Press, 1987; 1990) 16. For the story of their half-century relationship, see I Shock Myself: The Autobiography of Beatrice Wood (San Francisco, CA: Chronicle Books, 1988).  


Footnote Return
19. Arturo Schwarz, “Marcel Duchamp, the Man, Even” in Kuenzli and Naumann, eds., OP. CIT., 18.  

Footnote Return20. Most of the literature on Androgynes in art is limited to the historical era, when there are written documents. The prehistoric images have been more difficult to interpret owing to a lack of written documents. For a century, scholars have had little to say about the many Stone Age figures that clearly have female bodies but also have strange tall neck/heads. Many figures of this type have been classified as having the shape of a violin. No male/female symbolism was detected. In more recent scholarship we find the fact that there seems to be an unbroken continuity of such symbolism from the Old Stone Age through the New Stone Age, and the reasonable theory that such figures with “phallic necks” are to be interpreted as being male& female simultaneously. For illustrations of such female figures with “phallic necks,”see Gimbutas, The Goddesses and Gods of Old Europe 6500-3500 BC (Berkeley , LA: University of California Press, 1974 & 1982; 1990) 133, 135, 154, 157, 202; and Gimbutas,The Language of the Goddess (San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 1995) 82, 183, 230, 231, 232. The oldest figures of this female/male type in Old Europe (#356 & #357) date from between about 20,000 and 15,000 BCE. For parallel images from other parts of the world, see Lanier Graham, “The Great Goddess-God, The Divine Androgyne,” in Goddesses in Art (New York: Artabras, 1997) 43-47.


Footnote Return
21. Duchamp, quoted in Nixola Greeley-Smith, “Cubist Depicts Love in Brass and Glass” in The Evening World, New York (Apr. 4, 1916) 3.  


Footnote Return
22. Schwarz, in d’Harnoncourt & McShine, eds., OP. CIT. 82-83. Mircea Eliade is the twentieth century’s most widely respected historian of religions. His name continues to appear in the Duchamp literature, e.g., Francis M. Naumann, “Marcel Duchamp: A Reconciliation of Opposites” in Kuenzli & Naumann, eds., Marcel Duchamp: Artist of the Century (Cambridge and London: MIT Press, 1989) 40, note 30. Nothing was more important to Eliade than the symbolism of the coincidentia oppositorum. More Eliade citations are to be expected as Duchamp’s metaphysics are explored in more depth. During his visit to Kenyon College in 1960, I asked Eliade this question: “In our seminar on the sacred art, I want to be able to point to twentieth century artists who are still connected to the sacred. Can you suggest any?” He replied: “That is a subject I would like to write about. There are not too many in a society that has lost touch with the sacred. But I would say Chagall is reaching for Paradise, and Brancusi knows what it means to climb the axis mundi. Brancusi connected modern art with the Primal, and thereby injected a new vitality. Yes, I believe in Brancusi, and I’m told Brancusi believed in Duchamp. Is his ‘Mona Lisa with a Mustache’ only a joke or is it also an Androgyne? Several modern artists and writers have explored Androgyny. They are connecting with the Primal. They are worth examining. It also would be worthwhile to explore the abstract painters of today who are reaching beyond the skin of matter for what is underneath.” See Eliade, Symbolism, The Sacred, & The Arts (New York: Crossroad/Herder & Herder, 1986). A comprehensive study of the Androgyne in Surrealism has not been written. It will include images by many Surrealist artists and writers and such articles as Albert BĂ©guin, “L’Androgyne” in Minotaure, 1938.  


Footnote Return
23. Duchamp in conversation with Lanier Graham. Quoted in Graham, Marcel Duchamp: Conversations with the Grand Master (New York: Handmade Press, 1968) 2-3.  

Figs. 2-7, 24-28
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Duchamp’s Window Display for AndrĂ© Breton’s Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture (1945)

The subsequent paper is based on parts of a lecture first held at a three-day Marcel Duchamp symposium, which, accompanied by a small exhibition of works by the artist from the museum’s own collection, took place between November 23-25, 2001, at the Hessisches Landesmuseum Darmstadt, Germany. What follows is intended to highlight the significance of Duchamp’s 1945 window display of Breton’s second and expanded edition of art theoretical writings, ” Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture,” (Fig.1) for the production of his last major work, Given: 1. The Waterfall/2. The Illuminating Gas (Figs. 2 and 3). In the process, I attempt to predate Duchamp’s active involvement with this work and to shed some new light on the relationship between Marcel Duchamp and Maria Martins, his lover at the time, as well as Enrico Donati and Isabelle Waldberg, both of whom were involved with the construction of the shop window display. In the process, a new work by Duchamp will be introduced. In addition, the overall significance of the art dealer Julien Levy and RenĂ© Magritte’s painting Le Modèle Rouge (1935) (Fig. 4) for all of the above shall be examined.

click images to enlarge

  • Window
Display
  • 1. The Waterfall/2. The
Illuminating Gas(outside view)
  • Figure 1
  • Figure 2
  • Marcel Duchamp, Window
    Display for AndrĂ© Breton’s

    Le Surréalisme et la Peinture, 1945
  • Marcel Duchamp, Given:
    1. The Waterfall/2. The
    Illuminating Gas, 1946-1966
    (outside view)

click images to enlarge

  • 1. The Waterfall/2. The Illuminating
Gas (inside view)
  • RenĂ© Magritte, Le Modèle Rouge
  • Figure 3
  • Figure 4
  • Marcel Duchamp, Given:
    1. The Waterfall/2. The Illuminating
    Gas, 1946-1966
    (inside view)
  • RenĂ© Magritte, Le Modèle
    Rouge
    , 1935


click to enlarge
Drawing of Brentano’s Window
Display
Figure 5
Isabelle Waldberg, Drawing
of Brentano’s Window
Display
, 1945

On November 10th, 1945, the Swiss artist Isabelle Waldberg included a drawing in one of her many letters to her husband Patrick, living in Paris at the time. “Yesterday morning, we did the window at Brentano’sSurrĂ©alisme et la peinture,” she writes (1) . “Marcel naturally did everything, all design and execution. Here’s a drawing of it:” (Fig. 5)

Within the drawing, Waldberg points out various objects that can be seen from the perspective of a full frontal view of the window display. On the left is a “chicken wire mannequin bought ready-made,” on the right are “boots with toes painted by Donati.” In the center, towering above the “books” is “an object by me underneath the tent.” She defines the tent as “old paper from M.’s studio en chute.”

“chicken wire mannequin bought ready-made”


click to enlarge
Cover for VVV Almanac
Figure 6
Marcel Duchamp, Cover for
VVV Almanac, 1943 (detail)
Twin-Touch-Test
Figure 7
Frederick Kiesler and Marcel
Duchamp, Twin-Touch-Test (last page of
VVV), 1943

Two small circles within the drawing by Isabelle Waldberg define the protruding breasts of the chicken wire torso, yet from the remaining photograph of the window display it is impossible to tell whether the mannequin is feminine or masculine. In any case, only two years before, for the back cover of VVV (New York, nos. 2-3, March 1943) AndrĂ© Breton’s Surrealist publication in exile, Duchamp had designed a die-cut woman’s profile into which chicken wire was inserted (Fig.6). This see-through miniature torso was to be used for the Twin-Touch-Test, explained on the magazine’s last page (Fig.7): “Put the magazine flat on a table, lift back-cover into vertical position, join hands on both sides of screen, fingertips touching each other and slide gently along screen towards you.” The goal was to experience an “unusual feeling of touch” that the readers were asked to share with VVV. A double-exposure photograph of a slightly ecstatic looking Pegeen Vail (Peggy Guggenheim’s daughter) (2) demonstrated the Twin-Touch-Test while the editors announced a total of five prizes for the best submissions.

The VVV design would not be the only time that chicken wire was to appear in Duchamp’s oeuvre. In 1962, for the exhibition of Surrealist Intrusion in the Enchanter’s Domain, (D’Arcy Galleries, New York, November 28, 1960 – January 14, 1961) Duchamp installed a surrealist environment for the show (he also designed the catalogue) involving many rooms. In one of them Duchamp used a cupboard to house three white chickens. Lit by a green light, a sign above the poultry, made of nickel coins, spells: Coin Sale (Fig.8) (3) . Pronounced in French, “coin sale” means “dirty corner,” a derogative term for the female gender. Here, the chicken wire is used to keep the hens in place. A third instance involving chicken wire is Duchamp’s altered Family Portrait of 1964 (Fig.9). When compared to the 1899 original (Fig.10) (4) , it becomes apparent that what is missing in the photomontage are not only members of Duchamp’s family but also the chicken wire fence running behind both sides of the people gathered for the portrait.

click images to enlarge

  •  Environment for the Enchanter’s
Domain
  • Family
Portrait
  • Duchamp family portrait
  • Figure 8
  • Figure 9
  • Figure 10
  • Marcel Duchamp, Environment
    for the Enchanter’s
    Domain
    (detail), 1960
  • Marcel Duchamp,Family
    Portrait (1899)
    , 1964
  • Duchamp family portrait
    of 1899 (photographer unknown)

“books”

Besides at least two other publications displayed in Brentano’s shop window, a minimum of ten copies of Breton’s Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture (Fig.11) were either arranged alongside each other at the bottom of the window or were propped upright, showing off the book’s color reproductions of Surrealist paintings (among many more black and white images) (5). First published in 1928 (by Gallimard, Paris), Les Edition Françaises Brentano produced a second, expanded edition of Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture in 1945, while AndrĂ© Breton, Surrealism’s founder, was in temporary exile in New York. The book now included his famous observations (pp. 107-124) on Duchamp’s major work The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even, 1915-23 (Fig.12), the essay having been initially published inMinotaure in 1934 (Paris, 2, 6, Winter 1935, pp. 45-49) for which Duchamp had designed the cover (Fig.13). Earlier in 1945 the essay, originally titled “Phare de la MariĂ©e,” had been published in English as “Lighthouse of the Bride,” in the Marcel Duchamp number of Charles Henri Ford’s magazine View (New York, 5, 1, March 1945, pp. 6-9, 13), for which Duchamp had also designed the cover (Fig.14).

click images to enlarge

  • AndrĂ© Breton, Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture
  • The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors
  • Cover design for Minotaure
  • Cover design for View magazine
  • Figure 11
  • Figure 12
  • Figure 13
  • Figure 14
  • AndrĂ© Breton, Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture (cover), 1945
  • Marcel Duchamp, The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors,
    Even
    (aka the Large Glass), 1915-1923
  • Marcel Duchamp, Cover design for Minotaure, 1934
  • Marcel Duchamp, Cover design for View magazine, 1945

It may not come as a surprise then, that Duchamp also had a hand in the design of Breton’s new edition of Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture. On July 2, 1945, after meeting with Brentano’s publisher Robert Tenger, Duchamp mailed a letter to Elisa and AndrĂ© Breton in Reno, Nevada with suggestions for the cover: “Take the bare feet, Magritte’s shoes. Instead of black, make a print in sanguine on pink paper (or just white). This bloodshot reproduction would be imprinted in the middle of the board and also imprinted your name, the title of the book […] and Brentano’s below”(6). And sure enough, less than half a year later, it is RenĂ© Magritte’s Le Modèle Rouge (or Red Model) which appears on the cover of Breton’s book (as well as inside the book, between pp. 104-105). The window display even presented a poster of the image (7).

Completed by mid-November 1935, The Red Model, now in the collection of the MusĂ©e National d’Art Moderne, Paris, is the replica of an earlier version of the same name and year. In 1936, it was included in Magritte’s first American solo show at Julien Levy’s gallery (January 3 – January 20, 1936). And in 1947, it was sent by Alex Salkin – the painting’s owner since the late 1930s – to the Hugo Gallery in New York, where, most importantly, it was bought by none other than Maria Martins, on the advice of Marcel Duchamp (8). At the time of Duchamp’s design for Brentano’s window display, Maria Martins, the Brazilian Surrealist sculptor and wife of the Brazilian ambassador to the United States, was already engaged in a full-fledged love affair with Duchamp.

“boots with toes painted by Donati”


click to enlarge
Boots for Brentano’s Window DisplayDoor
Left: Figure 15
Enrico Donati, Boots for Brentano’s Window Display, 1945
Right: Figure 16
Duchamp, Door: 11 rue Larrey, 1927

The boots to the right of the window did not get lost (Fig.15). In a crude way, they were meant to resemble Magritte’s Red Model, being neither shoes nor feet, both shoe and foot. This sure must have appealed to a gender-hopping Duchamp, art’s patron saint of the eternal and/or. There was, of course, his 1927 door in his tiny Parisian studio-apartment which could be both open and closed at the same time (Fig.16). There was his first major solo-exhibition in 1963, by or of Marcel Duchamp or Rrose SĂ©lavy, his female alter ego (Fig.17); and a later exhibition, Not Seen and/or Less Seen of/by Marcel Duchamp/Rrose SĂ©lavy 1904-64: The Mary Sisler Collection. It turns out that he was deeply involved with Donati’s shoes as well. Besides the known photograph of the window display (9), there is another one from a different angle, reproduced in the French paper La Victoire (New York, no. 47, November 24, 1945) (Fig.18). Underneath the photograph, the following caption appears:


A
Retrospective ExhibitionWindow Display
Left: Figure 17
Marcel Duchamp, Cover for Marcel Duchamp: A
Retrospective Exhibition, 1963
Right: Figure 18
Marcel Duchamp, Window Display for AndrĂ© Breton’s
Le Surréalisme et la Peinture, 1945

Window display by Marcel Duchamp and AndrĂ© Breton at Brentano’s bookstore in New York, for “Surrealism and the Painting.” “Magritte Shoes” by Enrico Donati, mask by Isabelle Waldberg, falling paper and studded feet by Marcel Duchamp.

After more than half a century, the quality of the reproduced photograph in the remaining copies of La Victoire is very poor. What can be made out better than from the other photograph are the soles of the feet next to Donati’s, a work by Duchamp only mentioned inVictoire. They are a lot smaller and seem to be feminine in comparison to Donati’s big shoes with protruding plaster toes. Duchamp’s toes appear to be painted on their underside, as if to resemble painted toenails in reverse. They are studded not only at the heel (the heels of a shoe) but also in the center of both soles, with dozens of heads of nails sticking out, altogether arranged in a rectangular shape. While the ensemble with Donati’s shoes might resemble Picabia’s cover for LittĂ©rature (Paris, no. 7, December 1, 1922) (Fig.19), it certainly is also reminiscent of Duchamp’s Torture-Morte of 1959 (Fig.20), Duchamp’s enigmatic plaster foot (10).


click to enlarge
Cover for LittératureTorture-Morte
Left: Figure 19
Francis Picabia, Cover for Littérature, 1922
Right: Figure 20
Marcel Duchamp, Torture-Morte,1959

“an object by me underneath the tent”


click to enlarge
Isabelle Waldberg, Fruit
de Mer
Figure 21
Isabelle Waldberg, Fruit
de Mer
, 1943 (1948)

Born in Oberstammheim, Switzerland, in 1911, Isabelle Waldberg stayed in New York between 1941 and 1946. A former member of George Batailles’s secret society AcĂ©phale, she soon joined the Surrealists and met, among others, AndrĂ© Breton, Marcel Duchamp and Max Ernst. At the time she was working on sculptures made of flexible wood sticks (Fig.21) Isabelle Waldberg, Fruit de Mer, 1943 (1948)), some of which were included in Peggy Guggenheim’s famousArt of this Century exhibition in 1944. “Constructions” is the general term Waldberg used for her twisted wooden objects and starting in 1948, she would cast them in iron. It was one of her “constructions” that she used for the window display of Breton’s Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture (11) .

When Waldberg returned to Europe after WWII in 1946, Duchamp offered her to stay at his abandoned studio apartment in Paris, at 11 rue Larrey, well-known for the door Duchamp built therein, the one both open and closed at the same time. In 1958, she would cast a small bronze portrait of him (Fig.22) and yet another one in 1978/79, incorportating chess Figures and a device Man Ray used for drying negatives (Fig.23).

click images to enlarge

  • Isabelle Waldberg, Portrait
de Marcel Duchamp
  • Isabelle Waldberg, Portrait
de Marcel Duchamp, 1978/79
  • Figure 22
  • Figure 23
  • Isabelle Waldberg, Portrait
    de Marcel Duchamp
    , 1958
  • Isabelle Waldberg, Portrait
    de Marcel Duchamp
    , 1978/79

“old paper from M.’s studio en chute


click to enlarge
Twelve Hundred Coal Bags SuspendedLarge Glass
Left:Figure 24
Marcel Duchamp, Twelve Hundred Coal Bags Suspended
from a Ceiling over a Stove
(detail),1938
Right: Figure 25
Marcel Duchamp, The Large Glass as reproduced in
Le Surréalisme et la Peinture,1945

The paper en chute casts a shadow that certainly must have been to M. Duchamp’s liking. The light source resting at the bottom of the window display does not look unlike the stove used by Duchamp for another, better-known installation, Twelve Hundred Coal Bags Suspended from a Ceiling over a Stove, which he created for the Exposition Internationale du SurrĂ©alisme at the Galerie Beaux-Arts, Paris (January – February 1938) (Fig.24). The “tent” is what Isabelle Waldberg refers to in regard to Duchamp’s old paper suspended from the window’s ceiling, and “en chute” is how she describes it too, as in chute d’eau orwaterfall. “Paper fall” is what Arturo Schwarz picks up from her, comparing the shape to a “wedding veil, which may be a reminiscence of the Bride’s Garment in the Large Glass, 1915-1923, where it appears just above the Waterfall […]”(12).

The Bride’s clothes are never mentioned throughout Duchamp’s notes but are only and first referred to in Breton’s essay Lighthouse of the Bride (1934) (13), where numbers scrawled across a photograph of the Large Glass point out its different components (Fig.25). It is number 13, which, according to Breton (or is it Duchamp?) signifies the location of “VĂŞtement de la mariĂ©e” or clothes of the bride. Of course, it is none other than Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture which first makes Breton’s important essay widely available in bookform. But there is much more to it. The “paper fall” might also just be what it resembles most: a waterfall, exactly as in Given: 1. The Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating Gas. Besides the Waterfall, the Illuminating Gas is there, too, resting at the bottom. It is time now to leave Isabelle Waldberg’s description of the window in her letter to her husband Patrick. The remainder of my argument shall inextricably link Duchamp’s window display for Breton’s Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture to Given, his last major work.

Julien Levy

We have to return to Duchamp’s shoes. In January 1936, a year after Magritte painted Le Modèle Rouge, it was first exhibited at Julien Levy’s New York gallery. At the end of the same year, Black Sun Press, New York, published Levy’s book on Surrealism. Within this anthology, Levy describes Duchamp as an “ideal shoemaker” (14) who no longer makes shoes but who is still steeped in the act of creation: “A shoemaker makes shoes. A manually proficient shoemaker makes superb shoes. An ideal shoemaker no longer makes shoes, but ideas in his medium. He is divorced from his material objective and, like a madman, he would cut leather and sew leather and choose leathers like a runway engine, except that he has an idea.”(15) Duchamp had stopped painting in 1918, but – besides pursuing a career in chess – never ceased to be


click to enlarge
 
Not a Shoe
Figure 26
Marcel Duchamp,
Not a Shoe, 1950

involved with art. According to Levy, Duchamp, under the name of Rrose SĂ©lavy […] returned to making shoes, quoting Duchamp as saying: “If it is shoes that you want, I’ll give you shoes that you will admire to such an extent that you will lame yourselves trying to walk in them.” (16)It appears that with Duchamp’s feet/shoes in the shop windows nine years later, this is exactly what he has done.

And it doesn’t stop here: In 1950, Marcel Duchamp presents Julien Levy with a small sculpture made of galvanized plaster, something Levy wouldn’t part with until his death in 1981. The name of the sculpture is Not a Shoe (Fig.26) and the very first of a total of four small objects that would later be determined to be artistic side-products of his secret involvement with the production of Given. No one knew this at the time, of course, and when exhibited, those sculptures were mostly thought of as being “bizarre artifacts”(17). Not a Shoe is the only one not turned into an edition.


click to enlarge
Wedge of ChastityFemale Fig Leaf
Left: Figure 27
Marcel Duchamp, Wedge of Chastity, 1954 (1963)
Right: Figure 28
Marcel Duchamp, Female Fig Leaf, 1950

Duchamp’s Window Display for AndrĂ© Breton’s
Le Surréalisme et la Peinture (1945)
by   Girst, Thomas
(with an animation by Slawinski, Robert)

“old paper from M.’s studio en chute

The paper en chute casts a shadow that certainly must have been to M. Duchamp’s liking. The light source resting at the bottom of the window display does not look unlike the stove used by Duchamp for another, better-known installation, Twelve Hundred Coal Bags Suspended from a Ceiling over a Stove, which he created for the Exposition Internationale du SurrĂ©alisme at the Galerie Beaux-Arts, Paris (January – February 1938) (Fig.24). The “tent” is what Isabelle Waldberg refers to in regard to Duchamp’s old paper suspended from the window’s ceiling, and “en chute” is how she describes it too, as in chute d’eau orwaterfall. “Paper fall” is what Arturo Schwarz picks up from her, comparing the shape to a “wedding veil, which may be a reminiscence of the Bride’s Garment in the Large Glass, 1915-1923, where it appears just above the Waterfall […]”(12).

The Bride’s clothes are never mentioned throughout Duchamp’s notes but are only and first referred to in Breton’s essay Lighthouse of the Bride (1934) (13), where numbers scrawled across a photograph of the Large Glass point out its different components (Fig.25). It is number 13, which, according to Breton (or is it Duchamp?) signifies the location of “VĂŞtement de la mariĂ©e” or clothes of the bride. Of course, it is none other than Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture which first makes Breton’s important essay widely available in bookform. But there is much more to it. The “paper fall” might also just be what it resembles most: a waterfall, exactly as in Given: 1. The Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating Gas. Besides the Waterfall, the Illuminating Gas is there, too, resting at the bottom. It is time now to leave Isabelle Waldberg’s description of the window in her letter to her husband Patrick. The remainder of my argument shall inextricably link Duchamp’s window display for Breton’s Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture to Given, his last major work.

Julien Levy

We have to return to Duchamp’s shoes. In January 1936, a year after Magritte painted Le Modèle Rouge, it was first exhibited at Julien Levy’s New York gallery. At the end of the same year, Black Sun Press, New York, published Levy’s book on Surrealism. Within this anthology, Levy describes Duchamp as an “ideal shoemaker” (14) who no longer makes shoes but who is still steeped in the act of creation: “A shoemaker makes shoes. A manually proficient shoemaker makes superb shoes. An ideal shoemaker no longer makes shoes, but ideas in his medium. He is divorced from his material objective and, like a madman, he would cut leather and sew leather and choose leathers like a runway engine, except that he has an idea.”(15) Duchamp had stopped painting in 1918, but – besides pursuing a career in chess – never ceased to be


click to enlarge
Marcel Duchamp, Not a Shoe
Figure 26
Marcel Duchamp, Not a Shoe, 1950

involved with art. According to Levy, Duchamp, under the name of Rrose SĂ©lavy […] returned to making shoes, quoting Duchamp as saying: “If it is shoes that you want, I’ll give you shoes that you will admire to such an extent that you will lame yourselves trying to walk in them.” (16)It appears that with Duchamp’s feet/shoes in the shop windows nine years later, this is exactly what he has done.

And it doesn’t stop here: In 1950, Marcel Duchamp presents Julien Levy with a small sculpture made of galvanized plaster, something Levy wouldn’t part with until his death in 1981. The name of the sculpture is Not a Shoe (Fig.26) and the very first of a total of four small objects that would later be determined to be artistic side-products of his secret involvement with the production of Given. No one knew this at the time, of course, and when exhibited, those sculptures were mostly thought of as being “bizarre artifacts”(17). Not a Shoe is the only one not turned into an edition.


click to enlarge
Wedge of ChastityFemale Fig Leaf
Left: Figure 27
Marcel Duchamp,Wedge of Chastity, 1954 (1963)
Right: Figure 28
Marcel Duchamp, Female Fig Leaf, 1950

It most closely resembles theWedge section of the Wedge of Chastity (Fig.27) which in turn relates to the central vertical line of Female Fig Leaf (Fig.28). The latter is believed to be a mock or negative cast of the primary female genitalia, the part most prominently presented to the viewer of Given.

Why present Levy with the first hint of Given? Why not. It was Levy, eventually, who would recall Duchamp’s first mentioning of a similar project. In hisMemoirs of an Art Gallery (1977), he wrote of first meeting Duchamp fifty years earlier, on board of the Paris, a transatlantic steamer taking both from New York to Le Havre, France, in 1927. “Marcel toyed with two flexible pieces of wire, bending and twirling them, occasionally tracing their outline on a piece of paper. He was devising a mechanical female apparatus […], a soft anatomical machine. He said, jokingly, he thought of making a life-size articulated dummy, a mechanical woman whose vagina, contrived of meshed springs and ball bearings, would be contractile, possibly self-lubricating, and activated from a remote control, perhaps located in the head and connected by the leverage of the two wires he was shaping. The apparatus might be used as a sort of


click to enlarge
Boîte-en-Valise
for Julien Levy
Figure 29
Marcel Duchamp, Boîte-en-Valise
for Julien Levy (X/XX) (detail),1944

machine-onaniste‘ without hands. […] ‘The lines of the two wires,’ he went on, ‘when they are shaped to give just the leverage needed and then removed from their function as messengers between the head and vagina, they become abstractions‘” (18). Here is Duchamp playing with wire in 1927. In 1945, there is the chicken wire torso in the window display for Breton’s book. Almost needless to say that Julien Levy’sBoĂ®te en Valise contained the original maquette for Duchamp’s 1943VVV miniature torso made of chicken wire (Fig.29). It has been remarked elsewhere that when Duchamp enclosed the original in hisBoĂ®te for Levy in January 1944, he “added an inscription, written through the chicken wire after assembly: La Fourchette du Cavalier (The Night’s Fork). The Knight’s Fork is a chess position in which the knight attacks two opposing pieces at once. Duchamp’s erotic transposition of this situation needs no further explanation”(19). Duchamp had arranged the writing in a half-circle, leading from the breast of the torso to its lower region, to the female genitalia, or, for that matter, to Not a Shoe, to the “coin sale.”

André Breton


click to enlarge
Door for
Gradiva
Figure 30
Marcel Duchamp, Door for
Gradiva, 1937 (1968)
Plaster Relief of Gradiva
Figure 31
Plaster Relief of Gradiva

We have to return to Duchamp’s shoes. In the window display of 1945, they were neither all feet nor all shoes: Breton and Duchamp had collaborated many times before. Take 1937. Financially down on his luck and struggling to support his firstborn child, Breton was offered a gallery space by a generous friend for a few months. The original glass door (Fig.30) consisted of the incised outline of a couple through which the visitors could enter the gallery at 31, rue de Seine. Or, as Breton himself described Gradiva’s entrance: “You entered the store through a glass door that had been designed and executed by Marcel Duchamp, whose opening silhouetted, as their shadows might, a rather large man and a noticeably smaller and very slim woman, standing side by side” (20).

Breton had borrowed the title of his exhibition space from a book by Wilhelm Jensen (1827-1911) of the same name, in which the archeologist Dr. Norbert Hanold falls in love with a young woman depicted on a Roman plaster relief from Pompeii, now in the collection of the Vatican (Fig.31). The descending female, longingly named Gradiva by the protagonist – originally translating into “she who walks” -, wears a long tunic exposing her beautiful bare feet clad in sandals. The erotically charged space between the sole and shoe is prominently featured throughout Jensen’s short novel written along the theme of cherchez la femme. It was no other than Sigmund Freud, admired by Breton and the Surrealists, who had written a long essay on Jensen’s book, annotating his copy of Gradiva with short notes about the meaning of dreams and foot fetishism (21). Duchamp was no stranger to this part of the female anatomy, as a friend of his remembered him during a tableau vivant at the Arensberg’s a few years after Duchamp’s arrival in New York in 1914: “A young Frenchwoman was reclining on a divan like a virginal Olympia while the male guests took turns stroking parts of her body. Duchamp was devoting himself to her legs, which he caressed with the tips of his fingers. [William Carlos] Williams watched the spectacle in awe: ‘It was something I had not seen before. Her feet were being kissed, her shins, her knees […]'”(22).

Duchamp most certainly knew about Gradiva (23). When a long article on her appeared in the first issue of Le SurrĂ©alisme, mĂŞme (24), it was Duchamp who designed the cover (Fig.32), choosing a photograph of the Female Fig Leaf, with the concave form appearing almost convex, the “coin sale”, the Not a Shoe, in the center. There is yet another hint in all of this. Another version of theGradiva door for Breton’s gallery appeared much later. In 1968, for the announcement of theDoors exhibition at Cordier & Ekstrom, New York (March 19 – April 20, 1968), Duchamp produced miniatures of the door, both on paper and acetate (Fig.33). In addition, he created a “life-size” plexiglass replica of his Gradiva glass entrance. Two years after the completion ofGiven in 1966 and shortly before his death, Duchamp must have been amused at the exhibition’s theme of Doors, fully aware that Given, with its exterior consisting of a massive wooden Spanish door and an archway of red bricks, would be posthumously revealed to the public in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

click images to enlarge

  • Cover
for Le Surréalisme, même
  • Announcement
for the Exhibition Doors
  • Figure 32
  • Figure 33
  • Marcel Duchamp, Cover
    for
    Le Surréalisme, même, 1956
  • Marcel Duchamp, Announcement
    for the Exhibition
    Doors, 1968

Enrico Donati


click to enlarge
Cover for
Le Surréalisme en 1947
Figure 34
Marcel Duchamp, Cover for
Le Surréalisme en 1947, 1947
Le Surréalisme en 1947
Figure 35
Le Surréalisme en 1947,
Plate XLI, 1947

Not only did Duchamp and Donati collaborate in 1945 (25), but the window display for Breton’s book was the first time that they worked together. Not even two years later, in mid-1947, Donati would assist Duchamp in his cover design for Le SurrĂ©alisme en 1947, a major exhibition of the movement held at the Galerie Maeght, Paris (July-August 1947). For each numbered deluxe edition of the catalogue (there were over 1000 of them), Donati and Duchamp would paste pink foam rubber-breasts, surrounded by a rough-edged circle of black velvet (Fig.34).

Within the catalogue, plate XLI depicts four images, of which the lower left is a photograph of Duchamp’s and Donati’s window display of 1945 (Fig.35). The upper right image shows another window design by Duchamp of the same year, while the pictures by Surrealist painters Wilhelm Freddie and Jindrich Styrsky both depict half-hidden women. In Freddie’s painting, the lower half of a what appears to be a clothed female whose body hangs outside a wall opening not unlike the brick wall of Duchamp’s Given interior.

The back cover of Le SurrĂ©alisme en 1947 presents a sticker reading Prière de Toucher or “Please Touch.” (We are not too far from Duchamp’s miniature chicken-wire torso of 1943, his Twin-Touch-Test for the back of VVV.) The abandoned plaster model for the breast cover of the catalogue remained in the collection of Enrico Donati for half a century. (It is now at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.) (Fig.36). The model for this and a subsequent plaster was Maria Martins, Duchamp’s intimate friend (26). The breast plasters are linked to the nude torso in Given, for which Maria Martins was the first model. Yet another work by Duchamp was in Enrico Donati’s possession. An unnumbered BoĂ®te-en-Valise, just like Levy’s, including another original art work mounted on the lid’s inside: a scrap of paper with a detailed drawing of the underside of a human foot believed to be that of Maria Martins (Fig.37)(27). In one of HonorĂ© de Balzac’s better-known stories, The Unknown Masterpiece (first published in 1831) (28), the otherwise successful artist Frenhofer struggles for years with a canvas, yet coming up with nothing more than a mass of confused colors. Almost nothing. Amidst the chaos, looking closely, an “enchanting,” “living” and “admirable” female foot can be seen. Though the first studies for Given show a standing female nude with one foot raised at an awkward angle (Fig.38), Duchamp leaves this part of the anatomy out of the final piece (29).

click images to enlarge

 

click images to enlarge

  • Plaster Model for Please Touch
  •  Untitled Drawing
  • Maria,
the Waterfall, and the Illuminating
Gas
  • Figure 36
  • Figure 37
  • Figure 38
  • Marcel Duchamp,
    Plaster Model for
    Please Touch, 1947
  • Marcel Duchamp, Untitled Drawing
    for Enrico Donati’s

    Boîte-en-Valise,1946
  • Marcel Duchamp, Given: Maria,
    the Waterfall, and the Illuminating
    Gas
    , 1947

Maria Martins


click to enlarge
Coffee Mill
Figure 39
Marcel Duchamp, Coffee Mill, 1911

Not only did Duchamp and Donati collaborate in 1945 (25), but the window display for Breton’s book was the first time that they worked together. Not even two years later, in mid-1947, Donati would assist Duchamp in his cover design for Le SurrĂ©alisme en 1947, a major exhibition of the movement held at the Galerie Maeght, Paris (July-August 1947). For each numbered deluxe edition of the catalogue (there were over 1000 of them), Donati and Duchamp would paste pink foam rubber-breasts, surrounded by a rough-edged circle of black velvet (Fig.34).

Within the catalogue, plate XLI depicts four images, of which the lower left is a photograph of Duchamp’s and Donati’s window display of 1945 (Fig.35). The upper right image shows another window design by Duchamp of the same year, while the pictures by Surrealist painters Wilhelm Freddie and Jindrich Styrsky both depict half-hidden women. In Freddie’s painting, the lower half of a what appears to be a clothed female whose body hangs outside a wall opening not unlike the brick wall of Duchamp’s Given interior.

The back cover of Le SurrĂ©alisme en 1947 presents a sticker reading Prière de Toucher or “Please Touch.” (We are not too far from Duchamp’s miniature chicken-wire torso of 1943, his Twin-Touch-Test for the back of VVV.) The abandoned plaster model for the breast cover of the catalogue remained in the collection of Enrico Donati for half a century. (It is now at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.) (Fig.36). The model for this and a subsequent plaster was Maria Martins, Duchamp’s intimate friend (26). The breast plasters are linked to the nude torso in Given, for which Maria Martins was the first model. Yet another work by Duchamp was in Enrico Donati’s possession. An unnumbered BoĂ®te-en-Valise, just like Levy’s, including another original art work mounted on the lid’s inside: a scrap of paper with a detailed drawing of the underside of a human foot believed to be that of Maria Martins (Fig.37)(27). In one of HonorĂ© de Balzac’s better-known stories, The Unknown Masterpiece (first published in 1831) (28), the otherwise successful artist Frenhofer struggles for years with a canvas, yet coming up with nothing more than a mass of confused colors. Almost nothing. Amidst the chaos, looking closely, an “enchanting,” “living” and “admirable” female foot can be seen. Though the first studies for Given show a standing female nude with one foot raised at an awkward angle (Fig.38), Duchamp leaves this part of the anatomy out of the final piece (29).


click to enlarge
1. The Waterfall /
2. The Illuminating Gas, 1947
Figure 40
Marcel Duchamp, Study
for Given: 1. The Waterfall /
2. The Illuminating Gas
, 1947

It is time now to devote our full attention to the wire sculpture below the “paper fall,” below the “Bride’s veil.” In her letter to her husband, Isabelle Waldberg claimed it was hers and it closely resembles her “constructions” of the time. Yet, as she herself wrote, “Marcel naturally did everything.” Only two years before the first known sketches (Fig.40) (34) of the female Figure for Given and at a time when Duchamp was already involved with Maria Martins, Waldberg’s skeletal wire sculpture bears a close resemblance to the strangely distorted body of Given: the head and one arm hidden, the other outstretched, legs spread far apart, one straight and the other sharply bent at the knee, the triangle of genitalia exposed (35) ::


click for video(QT: 815KB)
download QuickTime Player
Footnote Return

This animation by Robert Slawinski involves the five following unaltered works by Duchamp in the order in which they are listed below: Window Display for Andre Breton’s Le SurrĂ©alisme et la Peinture, 1945    

Given: Maria, the Waterfall, and the Illuminating Gas, 1947
Study for Given: 1. The Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating Gas, 1947
The Illuminating Gas and the Waterfall, 1948-49 Given: 1. The Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating Gas, 1946-1966.

For Duchamp’s initial introduction of Given in 1945, there could not have been a better setting than a shop window, a work secretly linking Maria Martins to Marcel Duchamp, inextricably bringing the two together in this primal hint at Given‘s appearance, a work that would occupy Marcel Duchamp during the next twenty years until shortly before his death. In a note written in 1913 and published in A l’Infinif, his White Box of 1967, appearing a year after Given‘s completion, Duchamp had unmistakably alluded to the forbidden erotic sensation of the shop-window, the round trip rendez-vous of onlookers and objects, the orgasm through a sheet of glass, the consummation achieved by breaking it, silhouettes emerging.


click to enlarge
NoteNote
Figure 41 & Figure 42
Marcel Duchamp, Note from A’Linfinitif (White Box),1967 (1913)

The question of shop windows:.
To undergo
The interrogation by shop windows:.
The necessity of the shop window:.
The shop window proof of existence of the world
outside:. –
When undergoing the interrogation
by shop windows, you also pronounce ]
your own judgment Condemnation.
In fact, the choice is a round trip. From
the demands of shop windows, from the
inevitable response to shop windows,
the conclusion is the making of a choice.
No obstinacy, ad absurdum, : in hiding
this coition through a sheet of glass
with one or more of the objects in the
shop window .The penalty consists in
cutting the glass and in kicking yourself
as soon as possession is consummated.
q.e.d. –
Neuilly . 1913 (36)


Notes 

Footnote Return1. In Patrick Waldberg, Isabelle Waldberg: Un Amour AcĂ©phale, Correspondance 1940-1949, Paris: Éditions de la DiffĂ©rence, 1992, p. 331 (translation by Sarah Skinner Kilborne). Brentano’s, a well-known bookstore and publisher at the time, was located in Manhattan at 586 Fifth Avenue.

Footnote Return


click to enlarge
Cover for 
First Papers of Surrealism
Footnote 2
Marcel Duchamp, Cover for
First Papers of Surrealism, 1942

2.Arturo Schwarz, The Complete Works of Marcel Duchamp (New York: Delano Greenidge, 1999), p. 772.

A year before Duchamp’s back cover for VVV, he had designed the catalogue for theFirst Papers of Surrealism exhibition (New York, October 14 – November 7, 1942), the front cover of which depicts a close-up of bullet traces on the wall of a barn on Kurt Seligmann’s property in Sugar Loaf, New York (see a related article, Shooting Bullets at the Barn, in the Notes-section of Tout-Fait 2, 2000). With chicken and small livestock inside, the only door of the barn was in part made of chicken wire.

Footnote Return3. Jennifer Gough-Cooper and Jacques Caumont, “Ephemerides on and about Marcel Duchamp and Rrose SĂ©lavy,” in: Pontus Hulten (ed.), Marcel Duchamp: Work and Life (Cambridge, MA: MIT, 1993 [exh. cat.]), n. pag. [28 November 1960].

Footnote Return4. I thank Ms. Jacqueline Matisse-Monnier for providing a transparency of the original photograph to the Art Science Research Laboratory.


click to enlarge
Yves Tanguy
Footnote 5
Yves Tanguy,
En Lieu de Peur, 1941

5. The copy to the lower right of the chicken wire torso appears to be opened to page 176, reproducing Yves Tanguy’s En Lieu de Peur of 1941.

6.Jennifer Gough-Cooper and Jacques Caumont, “Ephemerides,” n. pag. [2 July 1945].Footnote Return

Footnote Return7. The size of the poster in the display can be determined to be approximately that of the original painting (60 x 45 cm). If it were, in fact, the original and not a reproduction, Isabelle Waldberg would surely have mentioned it in the letter to her husband, although there is a possibility of it having been added later. At the time, however, the painting already was a rather valued work of art and it might not have seemed fit to include it in a window display. (It probably deserves mention that Magritte’s shoes have made it into Frederic Jameson’s influential Postmodernism, or The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, Durham: Duke UP 1992 (1990), pp. 1-54. Within the essay, Jameson compares the depiction of shoes in the arts from van Gogh to Warhol, granting Magritte’s shoes that they “take on the carnal reality” of humanism. Van Gogh’s shoes, of course, have been pondered over before by philosophers Martin Heidegger and Jacques Derrida.)

Footnote Return8. David Sylvester (ed.), René Magritte: Catalogue Raisonné, vol. II (London: Menil Collection/Wilson, 1993), p. 207. According to Francis M. Naumann, Maria Martins and Marcel Duchamp were intimately involved throughout all of 1945, with their affair probably having begun as early as 1941 (telephone conversation, March 23, 2000).

Footnote Return9. In a fax of January 19, 2000, Arturo Schwarz claims that the anonymous photograph of the window display reproduced in Duchamp’s Complete Works catalogue was given to him by Breton several years before his death in 1966 and was lost shortly after.

Footnote Return10. In this issue of Tout-Fait, note Raymond J. Herdegen’s comparison between Duchamp’s Torture-Morteand a woodcut of Jesus’ studded feet found in an article by Alfred Jarry of July 1895.

Footnote Return11. In a telephone conversation of April 6, 2000, Isabelle Waldberg’s son, Michel Waldberg, confirmed that like most of the sculptures made in New York, the one used for the window display had apparently been lost.

Footnote Return12. Schwarz, Complete Works, p. 772.

Footnote Return13. It was Hector Obalk who first drew my attention to this peculiarity (conversation of November 8, 1999).

Footnote Return14. Julien Levy, Surrealism, New York: Da Capo, 1995 (1936), p. 16 [original italics].

Footnote Return15. Ibid. [original italics]

Footnote Return16. Ibid., p. 17 [original italics]

Footnote Return17. Stuart Preston, “Diverse Facets: Moderns in Wide Variety,” in: The New York Times, December 20, 1953, sect. 10, p. 12.

Footnote Return


click to enlarge
Marcel Duchamp (?), Porte-Gants
Footnote 18
Marcel Duchamp (?), Porte-Gants, 1927

 

18. Julien Levy, Memoirs of an Art Gallery, New York: Putnam, 1977, p. 20 [original italics]. The quotes are from the beginning of Levy’s “Duchampiana” article which first appeared in View magazine (New York; 5, 1, March 1945, pp. 33-35). The original does not contain the paragraph quoted and it is my assumption that Julien Levy added his observations after seeing Giveninstalled at the Philadelphia Museum following Duchamp’s death in 1968. The impact of seeing Given might have brought back the memory of their conversation of 1927, since, according to Levy-scholar Lisa Jacobs, the art dealer did not keep a diary (e-mail to the author of September 15, 1999).In the first edition of Marcel Duchamp: Parawissenschaft, das Epehemere und der Skeptizismus (Frankfurt a.M., Paris: Qumran, 1983), Duchamp-scholar Herbert Molderings reproduces a porte-gans or four-fingered single glove-rackmade of metal (p. 45; according to the author, Marcel Duchamp 27 is engraved in bold letters at the object’s base). Although the authenticity of this ready-made has not been fully proven, the wire sculpture is from the same year in which the conversation between Levy and Duchamp took place.

Footnote Return19. Ecke Bonk, Marcel Duchamp: The Box in a Valise, New York: Rizzoli, 1989, p. 280 [original italics].

Footnote Return20. André Breton, Conversations: The Autobiography of Surrealism, New York: Paragon, 1993, p. 144.

Footnote Return21. See: Sigmund Freud, Der Wahn und die Träume in W. Jensens “Gradiva,” Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer, 1995.

Footnote Return22. Carolyn Burke, Becoming Modern: The Life of Mina Loy, New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1996, p. 218

Footnote Return23. For a discussion of Gradiva’s importance for Surrealist artists like Salvador DalĂ­, Max Ernst and AndrĂ© Masson, see: Antje von Graevenitz, “Duchamp’s TĂĽr Gradiva. Eine literarische Figur und ihr Surrealistenkreis,” in: Klaus Beekman, Antje von Graevenitz (eds.), Avantgarde 2 (1989), pp. 63-96.

Footnote Return24. RenĂ© Alleau, “Gradiva Rediviva,” in: AndrĂ© Breton, Le SurrĂ©alisme, mĂŞme , pp. 13-21

Footnote Return25. For a discussion of their collaborations, see Kim Whinna’s interview with Enrico Donati in the third issue of Tout-Fait, A Friend Fondly Remembered: Enrico Donati on Marcel Duchamp.

Footnote Return


click to enlarge
Ex-voto anatomici
Footnote 26
Ex-voto anatomici, Pompeii

 

26. Casts of breasts are nothing new in the history of mankind. InGradiva‘s hometown Pompeii, they were frequently used ex-voto in rituals. See: Stefano de Caro, Il Gabinetto Segreto del Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (Napoli: Museo Archeologico Nazionale, 2000, p. 28). As good-luck charms, dildos and signs of economic well-being, huge phalluses were also displayed prominently inside and outside many houses and at funeral (Ibid.). As study models for artists or intricate anatomical artifacts for scholars and doctors (mostly depicting deformities), body parts, including both feet and breasts, were in frequent use throughout the centuries (see: Horst Bredekamp, Jochen BrĂĽning and Cornelia Weber (eds.),Theatrum Naturae et Artis: Wunderkammern des Wissens, Berlin: Henschel, 2000, pp. 197-218 [exh. cat.]). In New York, during the late 1910s and early 20s, it was Duchamp-obsessed Dada-Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven who presented a plaster phallus to some of her visitors (see Francis M. Naumann, New York Dada 1915-23, New York: Abrams, 1994, p. 173). On the theme of plaster casts, it was only a little later that the Parisian Bureau of Surrealist Research suspended plaster models of nude women from its ceiling in 1924. It was no other than Breton who oversaw the decoration (see: Mark Polizzotti: Revolution of the Mind: The Life of AndrĂ© Breton, New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1995, p. 220).

Footnote Return27. Francis M. Naumann, “Marcel & Maria,” in: Art in America, 89, 4 (April 2001), pp. 98-110, 157.

Footnote Return28. Newly published with a preface by Arthur C. Danto, New York: The New York Review of Books, 2001.

Footnote Return29. According to Vilayanur S. Ramachandran, director of the Center for Brain and Cognition, and professor with the Neurosciences Program and Psychology Department at the University of California, San Diego (UCSD), on the brain’s cortex, the area for genitals lies adjacent to that of the feet (see: Stefan Klein, “Fast jeder kann mit einem Tisch verschmelzen,” in SĂĽddeutsche Zeitung Magazin 3, January 19, 2001, pp. 20-23, p. 21).

Footnote Return30. Calvin Tomkins, Duchamp: A Biography, New York: Henry Holt, 1996, pp. 353-373; Francis M. Naumann, “The Bachelor’s Quest,” Art in America, September 1993, pp. 72-81, 67-69; also see footnote (27).

Footnote Return31. See Francis M. Naumann, Marcel Duchamp: The Art of Making Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Abrams: 1999, p. 174 (footnote 37). For a solo-exhibition of the artist at the Julian Levy Gallery in1947, Breton contributed an essay on Martins’ sculptures (see Francis M. Naumann, Maria: The Surrealist Sculptures of Maria Martins, New York: AndrĂ© Emmerich Gallery, 1998 [exh. cat.], pp. 42-44). On the occasion of the Surrealist Intrusion in the Enchanters’ Domain exhibition in New York, 1960, it was Duchamp (contributing, among others, his coin salebehind chicken wire) who urged Breton to include a work of Maria Martins in the catalogue, “on a single page” (see: Naumann, Francis M. and Hector Obalk (eds.), Affectionately, Marcel. The Selected Correspondence of Marcel Duchamp, Ghent/Amsterdam: Ludion, 2000, p. 368).

Footnote Return32. Francis M. Naumann, “Marcel & Maria,” p. 157, footnote 24.

Footnote Return33. Ibid., p. 103.

Footnote Return


click to enlarge
Lazy HardwareFor Sitting Only
Footnote 34.1
Marcel Duchamp, Lazy Hardware, 1945
Footnote 34.2
Marcel Duchamp, For Sitting Only, 1957

34. This second study for Given depicts a waterfall running through the legs of headless female, leading Duchamp scholar Herbert Molderings to the conclude that Duchamp first perceived of Given‘s Figure as a pisseuse, standing upright. To him, therefore, another shop window of 1945 is of crucial importance: Duchamp’s installation for Breton’s Arcane 17 at the Gotham Book Mart in April (conversation with the author, November 24, 2001). Within the window, Duchamp uses a mannequin to whose bare leg a faucet is attached. In this respect, Duchamp’s little-known wedding gift to Julien and Jean Levy becomes more significant. For Sitting Onlywas presented at the wedding on January 20th, 1957, in Bridgewater, Connecticut. It is a toilet seat to which seven falsies – nipples painted pink – are affixed, leaving space for the legs of the “sitter.” The falsies, of course, were the same ones used in collaboration with Enrico Donati for the deluxe edition of Le SurrĂ©alisme en 1947 (for a first reproduction and brief description of the work, see: Jennifer Gough-Cooper and Jacques Caumont, “Ephemerides,” n. pag. [20 January 1957]).

Footnote Return


click to enlarge
 In the Manner of DelvauxPaul Delvaux
Footnote 35.1
Marcel Duchamp, In the Manner of Delvaux, 1942
Footnote 35.2
Paul Delvaux, In the Manner of Delvaux, 1942

 

35. In a telephone conversation with Michel Waldberg (see footnote 11), the son of the artist is convinced that the lost sculpture was one of his mother’s, suggesting that Duchamp might have chosen it because of the likeness to what he secretly had in mind. The material used in Waldberg’s sculpture cannot be clearly defined, however. Hans Christoph von Tavel’s Isabelle Waldberg: Skulpturen 1943-1980 (Bern: Kunstmuseum Bern, 1981 [exh. cat.]) states that all of her New York “constructions” were made of bent twigs, with wire “constructions” only appearing in her oeuvre upon Waldberg’s return to Europe in 1946 (p. 10). Both wire and wood would have suited Duchamp well. Given‘s torso rests on tree branches and he often referred to the Bride in his Large Glass as “arbor type”, with its roots in “the skeletal part of the bride” (see: Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds.), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, pp. 42, 43). Already in 1942, Duchamp had made the small collage In the Manner of Delvaux, showing a female breast appearing in a mirror. This image itself was a detail appropriated from Paul Delvaux’s painting Dawn, 1937, in which four women, naked from the waist up, seem to emerge from solid tree trunks (see Arturo Schwarz,Complete Works, p. 224).

Footnote Return36. from: Marcel Duchamp: In the Infinitive – A Typotranslation by Richard Hamilton and Ecke Bonk of Marcel Duchamp’s White Box, Northend: The Typosophic Society, 1999, pp.5-6 (translated from the French by Jackie Matisse, Richard Hamilton and Ecke Bonk).

Figs. 1-3, 6, 8, 9, Footnote2
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Figs. 12-14, 16-18, 20
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Figs. 24-29, Footnote18
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Figs. 30, 32-34, 36-38
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Figs. 39-42, Footnote 34, 35
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Once More to this Staircase: Another Look at Encore Ă  cet Astre


click to enlarge
Once More to This Star
Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp,
Encore Ă  cet Astre

(Once More to This Star), 1911
Nude Descending
Figure 2
Marcel Duchamp,
Nude Descending a Staircase,
No. 2
, 1911

It has been some twenty-five years since Lawrence D. Steefel Jr.’s analysis of Marcel Duchamp’s 1911 drawing Encore Ă  cet Astre (Once More to This Star) (Fig. 1) was published by Art Journal.(1) Despite Steefel’s suggestion that Duchamp’s minor works, primarily his sketches and drawings, be allotted a greater degree of recognition for what they reveal about Duchamp’s creative process as a whole, Encore is still generally accorded little significance beyond its being a study for the Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 (Fig. 2).(2) I felt compelled to write about this particular drawing because I strongly agree thatEncore has-and continues to be-relegated to a minor status as little more than a precedent for the Nude…No. 2. While Encore is indeed a small sketch, it would be, in this case, presumptuous to judge significance merely according to appearances.

It is crucial to remember that the end of 1911 was a pivotal period in Duchamp’s career. In the last two months of 1911, Duchamp produced several of his most well known paintings, including Portrait of Chess Players, Sad Young Man on a Train, and the major study for the Nude… No. 2, Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 1. All of the aforementioned paintings have been in some way related to Encore (some more directly than others), yet these relationships have been far from exhausted. In this article, I intend to more fully situate Encore within this period of Duchamp’s life and art by examining Encore in relation to contemporaneous works, as well as introducing heretofore unaddressed precedents and possible inspirations for this drawing. My motivation for writing this essay was not to “explain” this sketch or to unearth its “meaning,” for I wouldn’t propose to do that with any of Duchamp’s works, especially one as enigmatic as Encore. Rather, I would like to suggest a number of possible influences, inspirations, and intentions based on Duchamp’s own work of the time and the ideas of more recent scholars.

Encore consists of three main parts.(3) In the center, a heavily-shaded head(4) rests on a hand or fist, with only a thin line describing a right shoulder and bent right arm. To the left of the head is what appears to be a female figure from the waist down; above the waist is a sectioned cylindrical element topped with swirling lines reminiscent of hair. To the right of the head is what has come to be the most important element, a goateed male figure ascending a staircase.(5) The figure’s head is drastically turned in order to peer at a grid to the right or behind the figure, which Steefel described as a “barred window.” As I agree with Steefel’s interpretation of the “female” figure as a “sex object,”(6) I will concentrate primarily on the other two elements of the drawing, after which I will suggest a reading that integrates all three elements.

click images to enlarge

  • Raphaelle and Titian Ramsay
  • Diego Velasquez,
Las Meninas
  • Diego Velasquez,Las Meninas
  • Figure 3
  • Figure 4
  • Figure 5
  • Charles Willson Peale,
    Staircase Group: Raphaelle
    and Titian
    Ramsay, 1795,
    Philadelphia Museum of Art
  • Diego Velasquez,
    Las Meninas, 1656,
    Museo del Prado
  • Diego Velasquez,Las Meninas, detail

Joseph Masheck noted that there is an uncanny resemblance between the ascending figure inEncore and the ascending figure in Charles Willson Peale’s hyperrealistic Staircase Group: Raphaelle and Titian Ramsay (1795) (Fig. 3), which is, like Duchamp’s drawing, in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.(7) While Masheck made a case for Duchamp possibly having seen a reproduction of the Peale painting in Paris (Encore preceded Duchamp’s first visit to the United States by more than three years), an association between the two images, though enticing, remains dubious.(8) A more practical-and arguably more similar-precedent for the ascending figure is found in a painting with which Duchamp was undoubtedly familiar, the silhouetted figure of Don JosĂ© Nieto in the background of Velásquez’s Las Meninas (1656) (Figs. 4 and 5). Though the resemblance between the two figures is far from exact, the figures’ postures, particularly the positioning of the legs, head, and right arm (if the roughly horizontal line extending from the above the hip of the ascending figure to the central head’s left eye does indeed describe an arm) are similar enough to merit a comparison. Even the coffered door to Nieto’s left has a gridded appearance akin to the grid to the right of the figure in Encore, albeit on the opposite side. InEncore, the artist’s perspective is a bit different, with the stairs in three-quarter view and the head in full profile; a comparison with Las Meninas shows that the ascending figure is drawn from virtually the same angle that Velásquez would have seen Nieto in the mirror (Velásquez would not have seen Nieto as we do in the painting because the artist is off to the side.) Could this figure that so intrigued Michel Foucault have had a similar affect on Duchamp?


click to enlarge
Robert Fludd, Utriusque Cosmi
Figure 6
Robert Fludd,
Utriusque Cosmi,
vol. 2, Oppenheim, 1619
Ramon Lull, De nova logica
Figure 7
Ramon Lull,
De nova logica, 1512

It is not enough to simply claim the figure in the Velásquez painting as a model for the ascending figure without an explanation. The figure of Nieto in Las Meninas has long fascinated scholars because of his transitional status; he inhabits a space that is both invisible to the viewer yet implied by his presence. Even more important to Duchamp, I believe, is the ambiguity of his presence, due to the fact he is neither entering nor exiting the room, but, in Foucault’s words, “coming in and going out at the same time, like a pendulum caught at the bottom of its swing.”(9) Like Nieto, the figure in Encore is positioned in such a way that he appears to be traveling upward, yet the severe turn of his head and downward gaze imply an impeding reversal of motion, or at least the potential for a reversal of motion, rendering the figure, like the Sad Young Man on a Train and Nude Descending a Staircase, simultaneously static and dynamic.

But why a staircase, and what is its relationship to the title? As Siegfried Giedion indicated, the diagonal planes of a staircase leading the eye upward led to the stair becoming “the symbol of movement.”(10) The general interpretation that the figure is ascending toward the sun/star of the poem is made less feasible by the figure’s backward and downward glance. Moreover, as Jerrold Seigel noted, “the ‘to’ in Laforgue’s title was a preposition of address, not of physical movement.”(11) Regardless, those who champion readings of Duchamp’s works that embrace his heavily debated involvement with the history and theory of alchemy(12)may support the reading of the figure ascending toward the sun/star, as ladders and staircases (which have a closely-tied history and symbolism) are legion in alchemical images and texts. Images of ladders and staircases leading to a star, the sun, or a heavenly/celestial realm (Figs. 6 and 7) support the notion that “the vertical…has always been considered the sacred dimension of space.”(13) That the direction of the figure’s movement remains ambiguous does not necessarily contradict the alchemical interpretation, as the hermetic theologian and neoplatonist Cardinal Nikolaus of Cusa (known as Cusanus) indicated: “Ascending and descending…are one and the same. The ‘art of conjecture’ lies in connecting the two with a keen intelligence.”(14) Another possibility of interpretation takes into account Duchamp’s predilection for wordplay, being that “astre” is an anagram for “stare” (which the figure on the right certainly does), which is a homonym for “stair.”

click images to enlarge

  • Grid in perspective
  • Drawing a Recumbent Woman
  • The Manuscript of Alfonso the Wise
  • Figure 8
  • Figure 9
  • Figure 10
  • Grid in perspective
  • Albrecht DĂĽrer, Draughtsman
    Drawing a Recumbent Woman
    , 1525
  • Illumination from the
    Manuscript of Alfonso the
    Wise, 1283, Escorial Library

 


click to enlarge
Woodcut of a King and a Bisho playing chess
Figure 11
Woodcut of a King and a Bisho
playing chess, illustrated in William Caxton,
Game and Playe of the Chesse,
(London: Elliot Stock, 1883)

But at or through what is the figure staring? The density of the vertical lines and the converging horizontal lines are certainly meant to convey deep foreshortening (Fig. 8), so one may deduce that the incomplete, hastily drawn grid contains squares and not rectangles. The grid can represent innumerable possibilities: DĂĽrer’s device for drawing perspective (Fig. 9), the checkered mosaic tiles of the Temple of Solomon, generally found in Masonic lodges, and the magic square, to name a few. A possibility that I would like to pursue, however, is that the grid represents a chessboard, due to the fact that the grid contains eight squares at its widest point, the same number of squares on a chessboard. The fact that the grid is vertical rather than horizontal should come as no surprise, since chessboards have been displayed vertically in order to study problems since the Middle Ages (Figs. 10 and 11). Duchamp himself had numerous chessboards displayed vertically in his studio, as recorded in several photographs (Figs. 12 and 13). Moreover, several of his studies forPortrait of Chess Players show the chessboard not only horizontally, but scattered throughout the composition, in some cases above and behind the heads of the players (Figs. 14 and 15). If the figure on the right is examining a chessboard, it may lead to an understanding of the role of the central “head.”

click images to enlarge

  • Duchamp’s Studio
  • Marcel Duchamp
  • Figure 12
  • Figure 13
  • Photograph of Duchamp’s
    Studio, 1917-18
  • Photograph of Marcel Duchamp
    taken by Denise Bellon, 1938
  • Study for Portrait of Chess Players
  • For a Game of Chess
  • Figure 14
  • Figure 15
  • Marcel Duchamp, Study for
    Portrait of Chess Players,
    1911
  • Marcel Duchamp, For
    a Game of Chess
    , 1911

The position of the central head, with the head resting on the hand or fist, is a posture inextricably linked with chess players, as it is seen in myriad representations of the subject(Figs. 16 and 17). Duchamp used this iconic posture for the figure of Jacques Villon in nearly all the studies for Portrait of Chess Players and in the final oil painting (Fig. 18). Duchamp himself appears in this manner on several occasions, as seen in a photograph used for a window display devoted to Duchamp at the bookshop La Hune in Paris in 1946 (Fig. 19), and in the sculpture Marcel Duchamp Cast Alive (1967) (Fig. 20), executed by Alfred Wolkenberg, which bears an eerie resemblance to the head in Encore. There are certainly practical explanations for the intimate communion shared by the game and this posture; chess games can go on for extended periods of time, during which the neck grows tired and requires additional support. However, in several instances, the hand at the chin appears to support the figure mentally rather than physically.

click images to enlarge

  • William Henry Fox Talbot
  • Honore Daumier
  • Figure 16
  • Figure 17
  • William Henry Fox Talbot,
    Chess Players, 1840
  • Honore Daumier,
    The Chess Players,
    1868, Musée du Petit Palais

click images to enlarge

  • Portrait of Chess Players
  • Window Display, La Hune Bookshop
  • Marcel Duchamp and Alfred
Wolkenberg
  • Figure 18
  • Figure 19
  • Figure 20
  • Marcel Duchamp, Portrait
    of Chess Players
    , 1911
  • Window Display, La Hune
    Bookshop, Paris, 1946
  • Marcel Duchamp and Alfred
    Wolkenberg, Marcel
    Duchamp Cast Alive


click to enlarge
Auguste Rodin
Figure 21
Auguste Rodin,
The Thinker
,
1879-89
Medici Chapel, Florence
Figure 22
Michelangelo,
Lorenzo de’ Medici,

Medici Chapel, Florence

No doubt the most famous, reproduced, and parodied image of thought of the twentieth century is Rodin’s Thinker (Fig. 21), who, rapt in his all-consuming contemplation, is the icon for the workings of the human mind. Centuries earlier, Michelangelo’s depiction of Lorenzo de’ Medici at the latter’s tomb in Florence (Fig. 22), which has often been cited as a model for Rodin’s allegory, was dubbed “Il Penseroso” due to the contrast of his downcast eyes and inward expression with the more active, outward thrust of the sculpture of his brother Giuliano. The fact that both chess players and “thinkers” share the same conventions for representation is far from coincidental, as chess is considered among the most difficult and intellectual of pursuits. Duchamp often stated that art should be more like chess, which is “completely in one’s gray matter,”(15) or, in Hubert Damisch’s words, “cosa mentale.”(16) His desire for art to become “an intellectual expression” was ultimately realized with the Readymades and the Large Glass,(17) but signs of this desire are visible as early as his studies for the Portrait of Chess Players.

There is, however, another association to be made with the posture of the central head, one which may be linked to another important painting by Duchamp produced at or near the same time as Encore. For centuries, the propped-up head had an association with another type of thinker, the melancholic. Melancholy, an affliction thought by medieval scientists to have been brought on by an imbalance of bodily humors and the positions of the planets, was exalted during the Renaissance by humanists as a sign of genius.(18)


click to enlarge
Raphael, School of Athens
Figure 23
Raphael, School of Athens,
1510-11, detail
Albrecht DĂĽrer
Figure 24
Albrecht DĂĽrer,
Melencolia I
, 1514


click to enlarge
Odilon Redon
Figure 25
Odilon Redon, Renseroso, 1874
Odilon Redon, Angel in Chains
Figure 26
Odilon Redon,
Angel in Chains, 1875,
The Woodner Family Collection

These humanists championed Saturn, who “was discovered in a new and personal sense by the intellectual elite, who were indeed beginning to consider their melancholy a jealously guarded privilege, as they became aware both of the sublimity of Saturn’s intellectual gifts and the dangers of his ambivalence.”(19)Among the more famous portrayals of the saturnine artist is Raphael’s depiction of Michelangelo (Fig. 23), a self-proclaimed melancholic, in hisSchool of Athens (1510-11).(20)Certainly the most famous image of melancholy (and one of the most analyzed images in the history of art) is DĂĽrer’s engraving Melencolia I(Fig. 24), interpreted by Erwin Panofsky as a “spiritual self-portrait,”(21) through which DĂĽrer represented “the melancholic artist, both cursed and blessed with a wider range of knowledge and a glimpse into the realm of metaphysical insight, [who] is painfully aware of the discrepancy between the necessary physical concerns of art and the higher metaphysical understanding that is desired.”(22) Melencolia Ihas already been linked with Duchamp’s work by Maurizio Calvesi, who indicated that both artists had a shared interest in alchemical imagery.(23) A close comparison of the melancholic angel in DĂĽrer’s engraving and the central head in Encore reveals that the two figures share two conventions that Raymond Klibansky, Fritz Saxl, and Panofsky called “the clenched fist and the black face,”(24) meaning that both heads are propped up by a fist and the faces are heavily shaded. These conventions, which were originally physiognomic symptoms of a medical affliction, were appropriated by humanists to signify a mental rather than a physical condition.(25) In addition to DĂĽrer’s famous engraving, Duchamp could have seen these conventions used by another artist for whom his admiration is well documented, Odilon Redon,(26) whose Penseroso (1874) (Fig. 25) and Angel in Chains (1875) (Fig. 26)owe a debt to Michelangelo and DĂĽrer, respectively.(27)


click to enlarge
Sad Young Man
on a Train
Figure 27
Marcel Duchamp, Sad Young Man
on a Train
, 1911

If the central head of Encore does indeed reflect the conventions of the melancholic artist, does this possibility have any bearing on the title of the Sad Young Man on a Train (Fig. 27), painted shortly after Encorewas produced? While Duchamp insisted that the young man’s “sadness” was introduced merely for the purposes of alliteration (“triste” and “train”), Seigel pointed out that the painting’s original title, “Pauvre Jeune Homme M.,” maintained the same mood minus the alliteration.(28)Moreover, the original title was, like Encore, taken from Jules Laforgue, leading to the possibility that Encore may in some way be a study for the Sad Young Man. Steefel’s descriptions of Duchamp in late 1911 as “fiercely intellectual,” “private and eccentric under a cloak of pervasive ‘Hamletism’ and desultory ennui,” and subject to “an inhibiting malaise of spirit”(29) support the notion that the “sad young man,” who Duchamp clearly indicated is a self-portrait, may in fact be a self-representation as the melancholic artist.

As I stated at the beginning of this essay, I find Steefel’s reading of the “female” figure at the left as a “sex object” very persuasive, and her mechanomorphic sexuality is likely an anticipation of Duchamp’s other paintings involving “the erratic mechanism of human desire.”(30) It is tempting to try to understand Encore, one of Duchamp’s many tripartite compositions.”(31), as a single idea, an integrated image in which the three elements have some common denominator. Encore seems to be the very definition of Foucault’s concept of the heteroclite, of things “‘laid’, ‘placed’, ‘arranged’ in sites so very different from one another that it is impossible to find a place of residence for them, to define a common locusbeneath them all.”(32) As it is highly unlikely that the three elements were conceived and intended to be seen independently, an integrated reading appears to be in order.

From the various analyses of the elements of Encore I have endeavored to support, a pattern may be inferred: the staircase, a symbol most commonly associated with spiritual concerns; the chess player or melancholic, both of whom are linked to the intellect; and the mechanical/female “sex object,” or, like the later coffee and chocolate grinders, a “sex machine.” Taken together, the spirit, the intellect, and the carnal are all forms of desire-the desire for salvation, the desire for the acquisition of knowledge or creative growth, and lust. Desire, specifically unfulfilled desire, became one of the critical operators in Duchamp’s work, from his distanced disrobing of Dulcinea to the perpetually unconsummated desires of the bride and bachelors.(33) For indeed, by assiduously attempting to locate any logical continuity to conjoin the three figures in Encore, we find ourselves more intimately acquainted with the notion of frustrated desire.


Notes

Footnote Return1. Lawrence D. Steefel, Jr. “Marcel Duchamp’s Encore Ă  cet Astre: A New Look,” Art Journal 36, no.1 (1976): 23-30. At the conclusion of Steefel’s article, an English translation of Laforgue’s poem is included under the title “Another for the Sun,” which Steefel indicated came from a translation by William Jay Smith in his Selected Writings of Jules Laforgue. Ron Padgett translated the title as “Again to this Star,” Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, trans. Ron Padgett (New York: Da Capo, 1987) 46. Another translation of the title, “Once More to this Star,” is more commonly used in reference to the Duchamp drawing.

Footnote Return2. “Widely recognized as a ‘first step’ towards the evolution of the famous Nude Descending a Staircase, painted a month or so after the drawing Encore was completed, the drawing itself has been disregarded as a work of art in its own right and, more surprisingly, has been persistently misread simply as an image by all previous commentators, including Duchamp himself referring to what it presumably is ‘about.'” Steefel, 23.

Footnote Return3. For a more detailed ekphrasis, see Steefel, 24-25.

Footnote Return4. Steefel called this element of the drawing a “mask,” possibly because it lacks ears and hair. However, the figure on the right lacks any discernible ears or hair, yet there is no mention of this figure being masked.To avoid inconsistency, I will simply refer to this element as a head.

Footnote Return5. Steefel indicated that it is a spiral staircase (25), which is certainly the case with Duchamp’s later descending figures. Unless the scribbled out lines above the figure’s head, which Steefel claimed may be “a possible vault of the lower staircase” (26), are the spiraling continuation of the staircase, I see no evidence that this particular staircase is helical.

Footnote Return6. Steefel, 25.

Footnote Return7. Joseph Masheck, ed., Marcel Duchamp in Perspective (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1975) 7-8.

Footnote Return8. Schwarz stated that “[Duchamp] could not possibly have seen the Peale before completing this study.” Arturo Schwarz, The Complete Works of Marcel Duchamp, 3rd ed., vol. 2 (New York: Delano Greenidge, 1997) 555.

Footnote Return9. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things (New York: Vintage, 1994) 11.

Footnote Return10. Siegfried Giedion, The Eternal Present (New York: Pantheon, 1964) qtd. in John Templer, The Staircase: History and Theories (Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1992).

Footnote Return11. Jerrold Seigel, The Private Worlds of Marcel Duchamp (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1995) 38.

Footnote Return12. See Arturo Schwarz, “The Alchemist Stripped Bare in the Bachelor, Even,” in Anne d’Harnoncourt and Kynaston McShine, Marcel Duchamp (New York: Museum of Modern Art; Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1973) 81-98; and Maurizio Calvesi, Duchamp invisible (Rome: Officina edizioni, 1975).

Footnote Return13. Christian Norberg-Schulz, Existence, Space and Architecture (New York: Praeger, 1978) qtd.; in Templer, 34.

Footnote Return14. Alexander Roob, The Hermetic Museum: Alchemy and Mysticism (New York: Taschen, 1997) 282.

Footnote Return15. Schwarz, Complete Works, vol. 1, 73.

Footnote Return16. Hubert Damisch, “The Duchamp Defense,” trans. Rosalind Krauss, October 10 (Fall 1979): 5-28.

Footnote Return17. Schwarz, Complete Works, vol. 1, 73.

Footnote Return18. Raymond Klibansky, Erwin Panofsky, and Fritz Saxl, Saturn and Melancholy (New York: Basic Books, 1964) 241-254.

Footnote Return19. Ibid., 251. For more about the melancholic temperment as it pertains to artists, see Rudolph and Margot Wittkower, Born Under Saturn (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1963).

Footnote Return20. Klibansky et al, 232 and Wittkower, fig. 21.

Footnote Return21. Erwin Panofsky, The Life and Art of Albrecht DĂĽrer (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1955) 171.

Footnote Return22. Linda Hults, The Print in the Western World (Madison, WI.: University of Wisconsin Press, 1996)
95.

Footnote Return23. Maurizio Calvesi, “A noir, Melencolia I,” Storia dell’Arte 1-2 (1969): 37-96. Duchamp invisible; Arte e alchimia (Florence: Giunti, 1986). See also Giuseppina Restivo, “The Iconic Core of Beckett’s Endgame,” in Marius Buning, Matthijs Engelberts, and Sjef Houppermans, Samuel Beckett: Crossroads and Borderlines: L’Ĺ“uvre Carrefour/L’Ĺ“uvre Limite (Amsterdam, Atlanta: Rodopi, 1997) 118-124.

Footnote Return24. Klibansky et al, 290.

Footnote Return25. Ibid., 320.

Footnote Return26. Seigel, 50.

Footnote Return27. Douglas W. Druick, ed. Odilon Redon: Prince of Dreams, 1840-1916 (Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago; New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1994) 79-80, 84.

Footnote Return28. Seigel, 59.

Footnote Return29. Steefel, 23.

Footnote Return30. d’Harnoncourt and McShine, 256.

Footnote Return31. Young Man and Girl in Spring (1911), 2 Personages and a Car (1912), The King and Queen Surrounded by Swift Nudes (1912), and The Bride Stripped Bare by the Bachelors (1912) are but a few examples. Both Robert Lebel and Harriet and Sidney Janis have noted Duchamp’s penchant for the number three in his work. Schwarz, Complete Works, vol. 1, 128.

Footnote Return32. Foucault, xvii-xviii.

Footnote Return33. Seigel, 41, 94-97 and Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson, The Essential Writings of Marcel Duchamp(London: Thames and Hudson, 1973) 39, 42, 44.

 

Figs. 1, 2, 12, 14, 15 ©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

“A very normal guy”: An Interview with Robert Barnes on Marcel Duchamp and Étant DonnĂ©s


click to enlarge
Robert BarnesRobert Barnes
Robert Barnes in the 1950’s and 1960’s
(from left to right)

The American painter Robert Barnes, recently elected member of the American Academy of Design, is a very private person and doesn’t care much for publicity. It was only after many phone calls and letters that he finally agreed to a lengthy interview in his studio in Bloomington, Indiana, on January 27, 2001. Besides a brief book review of Calvin Tomkin’s biography of Marcel Duchamp (Duchamp: A Biography, New York: Henry Holt, 1996) published in Blackwell’s Britain-basedThe Art Magazine in 1997, he had never before spoken about his close encounters with Duchamp and other Surrealists in New York during the 1950’s. Though refusing to be called “Duchamp’s last assistant” he admits that it was he whom Duchamp had asked to pick up the pig skin for Etant Donnes in Trenton, New Jersey*. The following interview, therefore, sheds some new light on the production of Duchamp’s final major work as well as his edition of Ready-mades in1964, and reveals heretofore unknown facets about Duchamp, and those who knew him at the time.


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  • collection of the Indiana University Art Museum
  • collection of the Indiana University Art Museum
  • collection of the Indiana University Art Museum

Robert
Barnes visiting the Marcel Duchamp collection of
the Indiana University Art Museum, Bloomington, January 2001


click to enlarge
1.The Waterfall / 2.The Illuminating Gas(outside view)1.The Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating Gas(outside view)
Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp, Given: 1The
Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating
Gas
,1946-1966 (outside view)
Figure 2
Marcel Duchamp, Given: 1.The
Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating
Gas
,1946-1966 (inside view)

Tout-Fait: There are a lot of questions that I want to ask you–about you and your art and the people you knew. Let’s just start withEtant Donnes (Fig. 1, 2), Duchamp’s final masterpiece that he supposedly worked on in secret between 1946 and 1966. You apparently knew about the piece before it was posthumously revealed at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 1969?
Robert Barnes: Lots of people knew about it. I don’t know what this great mystery is. I am sure that Matta (1)knew about it. And if Matta knew about it, everyone in the world knew about it. Matta was a bigger blabbermouth than I was. But, you know, a lot of mystique about Duchamp and all of the legends and stories that have grown up around him were basically manufactured much later and Etant Donnes, well you know, I think it’s his masterpiece. A lot of people are critical of it. I think they are critical of it because it embarrassed them. But it is the bride fleshed out and it is the appropriate final production that Duchamp created. The secrecy — to tell you the truth — I don’t think is very important because everything about Marcel was secret and known, that’s the way he was.
Tout-Fait: And you were born in 1934?
Robert Barnes: Yeah, but I don’t admit it to many people.
Tout-Fait: You came to New York when you were 19 I think you said?
Robert Barnes: No, twenty-something.
Tout-Fait: Oh, you had married when you were 19. So you were introduced to that circle of artists by… how did you get to know them?

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download
QuickTime Player

Interview with Robert Barnes
Video 1
Interview
with Robert Barnes
(Excerpt), January 2001.

Robert Barnes:Through Matta.
Tout-Fait: And how did you come across him?
Robert Barnes: I met Matta when I was a young man in Chicago. It is interesting with people. You know who you can know, and you know who you can like, and there are affinities that are expressed without ever having an explanation. The same was true with Marcel, except Marcel liked everybody. But Matta and I just had an affinity and he was good to me, he was careful with me. He helped me, and there’s an interesting story to indicate this. He was staying in Chicago, in some hotel, and he invited me out to his place and I was delighted to go because, at that time, he was living with what I guess was said to be his wife, but I’m not sure she ever was: Mellite, a gorgeous French woman and I was totally in love with her. And I was delighted to go. I was more interested in her than in Matta at the time. When I was a young man, I was overly sensitive to things, and I found it difficult to eat when I was nervous. I was just sort of paralyzed. It was terrible on dates, because I could never eat when I was on a date. And I went to this dinner and Matta said to me–I was sitting there looking uncomfortable–and he said “You have a problem eating, don’t you, when you’re uncomfortable?” and I said, “Yeah” and he said, “So did I.” Now I don’t think he ever did. I don’t think Matta was ever uncomfortable. He said, “Let’s drink this wine.” And he had discovered a catch at a low price of a wine, called “Grand Echeseaux,” which he dearly loved; it was his favorite wine. He bought tons of it. And after a couple of glasses, I totally relaxed. What I am telling you is that Matta had a way of making you feel comfortable and that’s probably why he had nine wives because he made them feel comfortable and then uncomfortable later.
Tout-Fait:Now that was Matta. But I have to get back to Etant Donnes. You said you were not Marcel Duchamp’s assistant but he told you to get certain things for this piece.
Robert Barnes: I am uncomfortable with that story. Let me tell you that Matta did introduce me to Marcel the first time, that’s how it happened. He took me up to Duchamp’s apartment. It was in the 50’s, near Bloomingdale’s (2).
Tout-Fait: He was already married to Teeny then.
Robert Barnes: Yeah. But you want to go back to Etant Donnes. I would never admit this, but I went to New Jersey to get the pigskin.
Tout-Fait: He asked you to?
Robert Barnes: Yeah. And I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift and I didn’t have a driver’s license but I took this truck and I don’t know whose truck it was, probably some merchants, and picked up this pigskin.
Tout-Fait: He had already ordered it and just wanted someone to pick it up for him.
Robert Barnes: Yeah. The thing is, this is going to screw up all of your research because I think that this was his second pigskin. I think he had one before. I don’t know whether it was to patch. You know when I was on the scene it was late Etant Donnes, he was already in the process pretty much.
Tout-Fait: Officially he started working on it in 1946, and below the signature he writes 1966.
Robert Barnes: That’s way late. It was done sitting, gathering dust by then. It was in the ’50’s, ’56.
Tout-Fait: So how did he first introduce you to it?

click to enlarge
The Bride Stripped Bare By Her Bachelors
Figure 3
Duchamp,The Bride Stripped
Bare By Her Bachelors, Even

(the LargeGlass), 1915-23

Robert Barnes: Well I was at his apartment and he asked me if I’d pick up the pigskin and I did. But I knew about it before then, that’s the thing, everyone sort of knew about this thing and most people hated it and thought it was a waste of time. I loved it; you know I thought it was his masterpiece. Although the Large Glass (Fig. 3) is probably the monument but this is the masterpiece because it tested people’s ability to accept Marcel. Now we accept him.
Tout-Fait: Well a lot of people still don’t.
Robert Barnes:Well too bad.
Tout-Fait: When you saw the piece, the door wasn’t there, the door came very late.
Robert Barnes: No. When I saw it, it was all over the place, it was in pieces. And my suspicion was that he put the skin on earlier and it cracked. He had a terrible time keeping it soft. There was a beauty shop downstairs and awful smells came out of that place it was enough to give you asthma and die just going up to Marcel’s studio. And I think he actually asked them about lanolin and skin softeners to use on his skin. No not on his skin, on the pig’s skin. My feeling is that either the pigskin that I got–which I never actually saw, it stayed in the brine — it might have been just to patch it. Do you know when they took it apart were there patched pieces?
Tout-Fait: Well as you can see in the Manual of Instructions (Figs. 4, 5, 6) here, you can disassemble it in certain points. But when you say it was all over the place, what do you mean by that?

Click to enlarge

 

  •  Manual of Instruction
    Figure 4
  •  Manual of Instruction
    Figure 5
  •  Manual of Instruction
    Figure 6

Marcel Duchamp, Manual of Instruction for the Assembly of Etant Donnes,”
(pages 46a, 62 and 64), 1966

Robert Barnes:There were pieces of it. It was not hard to see what it was. I don’t remember
the branches. The thing I remember most about all this is the damn floor. Well it’s so appropriate and so ugly and the building was so awful, but that floor, made sense. There’s that movie of Richter’s (3),
8×8 (Fig. 7), with a giant chessboard and people walking on it. And I always thought that you almost needed to hop in that studio the way you hop from one square to another.

click to enlarge
Hans Richter
Figure 7
Hans Richter,8×8,
1955-1958 (film still)


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The
Waterfall and the Illuminating Gas The
Waterfall and the Illuminating Gas
Figure 8
Marcel Duchamp, Given: Maria,the
Waterfall and the Illuminating Gas
,1947
Figure 9
Marcel Duchamp, Given: Maria,the
Waterfall and the Illuminating Gas
,1947

Tout-Fait: Judging from the preliminary works (Figs. 8, 9), some argue that he first tried to construct Etant Donnes as a standing figure, was it always lying there?
Robert Barnes: Yeah. I don’t think it ever could stand and I don’t think he cared or wanted it to. He might have wanted to position it up a little bit so you had to look at the pudenda.
Tout-Fait: You can say pussy if you like.
Robert Barnes: I know you can say pussy but I don’t know¡¦
Tout-Fait: What do you think in terms of this thing being anatomically correct, do you think he took life casts?
Robert Barnes: No, he didn’t give a damn about whether it was anatomically correct. In some ways–I mean if you look at it as he intended, as a voyeur, somebody peeping through a hole–it is shocking because the pussy is not right and you look at it and you say, “oh wait, no this isn’t right” and you start adjusting. Marcel was smart enough to make you think that and also being hairless it was a little bit like kiddy-porn.


click to enlarge
The
Origin of the World
Figure 10
Gustave Courbet,The
Origin of the World
, 1866

Tout-Fait: But what you said with the spectator or the voyeur, looking at this and seeing, you
know you have Courbet’s Origin of the World (Fig.10)and there you have an anatomically more or less correct pussy (4), whereas Duchamp’s intentionally wasn’t right?

Robert Barnes: Well with Courbet, you know what you’re into, if I may pun a bit. In Duchamp you approach it with doubt, you’re not sure you want to be there or should be there, want to be there is maybe even more important. With Courbet you know what you’re thinking about, this is obviously a woman¡¦ With Duchamp you have the inaccuracies and the fact that the body is not right at all. The whole wig thing. It’s all wrong but you look at it and start rearranging it and of course everything he did was like that and the attempts to explain Duchamp I think are terrible because it is alien to the point. And I think even Duchamp’s explanations, all the things he wrote, were misleading. I think intentionally misleading, done after the fact, and meant to feed people who want to be fed.
Tout-Fait: Why would you think he intentionally constructed a torso that you notice is not a torso but rather some distorted figure. Why would he not try–if he uses all of these 3-D materials–why would he not try to aim for an anatomically correct torso?
Robert Barnes: Because he wasn’t an academician. If he wanted to make it anatomically correct he could have done that and it would not have had the same impact.
Tout-Fait: Because none of the men I know that are into women and look at this thing find it sexually arousing.
Robert Barnes: Oh, I do.
Tout-Fait: Oh you do?
Robert Barnes: I think it’s neat. The thought that you have is you sort of wish that women were built like that, were made like that, a little distorted, a little extra. But I’ll get off that subject quickly before I get arrested. I was always amazed at how many people were embarrassed by it and obviously that was the intent of the work. I mean all of these nitwits that looked at it and said it’s not worthy of Duchamp were the ones that he was out to get. And I loved it. You know I didn’t see it. I never saw it put together until much later.

Tout-Fait: But you saw it. The thing is though, when it was reviewed, when it was released to the public in 1969 at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, John Canaday of the New York Times already wrote at the time that Etant Donnes was “very interesting, but nothing new,” maintaining that in the light of artists like Edward Kienholz, Duchamp, “this cleverest of 20thcentury masters looks a bit retardaire.” In other words, it looked dated and surely wasn’t shocking anymore.
Robert Barnes: Because Duchamp was before and fed into this age that had to be shocked.Etant Donnes is not shocking, it’s embarrassing. Big difference. You look at it and you think “I should not be thinking this or looking.” And you’re not shocked but I mean no one can approach this piece of work without it clobbering him. And Marcel was very subtle.
Tout-Fait: He was very subtle. What do you think about him working with such a different media, all of the sudden coming up with this three-dimensional environment?
Robert Barnes: Why is it so different? He made the thing. His other casts of women are all leading up to this¡¦
Tout-Fait: Well that is one thing. When he did the casts¡¦
Robert Barnes: I never asked who it was. I suppose it was Teeny.
Tout-Fait: There are different stories about the casts.
Robert Barnes: I guess you’ll have to find the “castee” or “castette.”


click to enlarge
Female Fig Leaf
Figure 11
Marcel Duchamp,Female Fig
Leaf
, 1950 (first version)

Tout Fait: Take the Female Fig Leaf (Fig. 11), for example. Richard Hamilton says that Duchamp told him he did these things by hand, whereas Duchamp scholars like Francis M. Naumann think that he actually took a live cast.


Robert Barnes: Oh, well he would have taken a live cast because it’s more fun.

Tout Fait: But who would that have been? Maria Martins(5)or Teeny or both?
Robert Barnes: Probably anybody–anybody who would lend her body.
Tout Fait: You know Duchamp toyed with the fourth dimension in the Large Glass. Do you think
there might also be something of that in the distorted body, by arriving–as Rhonda Roland Shearer has argued–at a higher level of representation because it is not just 3-D. But by rendering a body, somehow through distortion, thus incorporating movement in time–or do you think this is going too
far?


click to enlarge
Lovers on a Bed II
Figure  12
George Segal, Lovers on
a Bed II
, 1970
Young Girl
Figure 13
George Segal, Young Girl, 1972-73

Robert Barnes: Well if he had done it merely in 3-D, it would have been a George Segal (Fig. 12, 13). He wasn’t interested in that, he’s better than that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it. But Duchamp was magnificent. He was so smart, so intelligent, his brain was so complex and that’s the best thing about him that I don’t think anyone¡¦ I think you can only approach appreciation to Duchamp and I don’t think his intelligence was where people thought it was. Everyone felt that Duchamp was ‘scientifically pure, he could think in mathematical ways.’ I don’t think he could add beans. I think Marcel was inventive because he was beyond science; he was beyond accuracy and Figures. He was beyond all that because then he could approach us; he could manipulate us. Being around Duchamp was always–I wouldn’t say challenging because he made people comfortable–but the thinking was rapid and he wasn’t the only one, Matta was quick, too. All of those people in the circle of Duchamp were quick.


Tout-Fait: And you were young and in their midst.

Robert Barnes: I was just a baby. I was a pretty kid. I didn’t ever approach them with enough reverence though. I felt like I just was interested. It wasn’t “oh the big artist.” Because it is like anything, if you know a celebrity, you are always shocked at how human they are. The first time I met Duchamp, I went with Matta, and Duchamp had a cold and the first thing I thought, “men of this stature don’t get colds.” And he was in his bathrobe eating honey out of a silver bee. Now if that wasn’t so much Duchampian as Ernstian or something Richter would have thought of. But it was weird because it was so appropriate and his apartment was always a place where¡¦ I wonder where all that stuff is, do you know?

Tout-Fait: I don’t know exactly, it went to the estate I guess.

Robert Barnes: But who was left in the estate after Teeny?


Tout-Fait: I believe Teeny’s three kids, Jacqueline Matisse Monnier as well as Paul and Peter Matisse.

Robert Barnes: What did they do with all of that?

Tout-Fait: Some of it was donated to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, other works were donated to the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris.

Robert Barnes: Can you imagine¡¦ you know he used to have an armchair that was done in needlepoint by Miro(6)?It was all so oily because he would always lean on it. It was his favoritechair. Could you imagine sending that to the Salvation Army?
Tout-Fait: Was it?
Robert Barnes: I don’t know. Every time when someone dies they give stuff to the Salvation Army. That reminds me of a gathering at Duchamp’s place once. All the people were staring at me. It was very uncomfortable. I don’t like being stared at. And Duchamp who was so sensitive, he knew that I was feeling uncomfortable. And he leaned over and he said to me “They are looking at you Robert, because you are sitting on a Brancusi” (7)–a little bench thing–and I started to get up and he pushed me down and said. “That’s what it’s for, to be sat upon. So let them look at the Brancusi and forget about yourself.” And I did.
Tout-Fait: Can you recall how many parts Etant Donnes was? How many parts when you saw it
there at his place?
Robert Barnes: No, the best thing I can remember about the place was the chess-board floor. I mean that’s very exciting, isn’t it, for history.
Tout-Fait: So the only time you helped him with it, was getting the pigskin? And how many times had you been to the secret studio on 210 W 14th Street?
Robert Barnes: Oh, lots of times. I lived just down below there for a while.
Tout-Fait: So you saw the progress that was made?
Robert Barnes: Yeah. And at the time I was working for Carmen DiSappio who was just down the street, so¡¦
Tout-Fait: So when works like Female Fig Leaf came out and those things that had to do with Etant Donnes that people could only place it with Etant Donnes later because they did not know about it. When you saw these pieces you already knew that they had to do with this kind of work?
Robert Barnes: The thing is that if you knew Marcel and you knew the people around them, this is a sequence that is so practical and natural, I mean these were horny people my friend. Matta was probably the horniest of all. He’s probably still trying to dick everything in sight. These were people who thought about sex. I mean, it’s all about sex–the gas. That’s what bothered me about Etant Donnes, what kind of light bulb is in the lamp?
Tout-Fait: It’s an electric light, though it’s supposed to be a Bec Auer, a gas burner.

Robert Barnes: Those long things?

click to enlarge
Portrait of Chess Players
Figure 14
Marcel Duchamp,Portrait of Chess
Players
, 1911

Tout-Fait: Yeah the long thing, that has a green light emanating from it, under which Duchamp experimented when he did the Chess Players in 1911 (Fig. 14). He painted in that green light. So although with Etant Donnes it is an electric lamp, it is supposed to be a gas lamp.
Robert Barnes: So that is maybe where the gas came in. The gas is like what we lately have discovered as pheromones, I think, which is a sort of sex gas.
Tout-Fait: What is sex gas?
Robert Barnes: Gas! And with Marcel, gas is always sex gas; it will get you. Worse than mustard gas, you’re done for.
Tout-Fait: Well, after all Etant Donnes‘ subtitle is 1) The Waterfall / 2) The Illuminating Gas. Do you recall having seen the painted landscape with moving waterfall used as the artwork’s backdrop?
Robert Barnes: No. I think the scene was there but I don’t remember anything happening back there; it was dark. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I didn’t focus on much of it then.
Tout-Fait: But you and Duchamp saw each other often? He was at your apartment and he liked the way it was built. What’s the story about that?
Robert Barnes: Yeah, I lived on Kenmare Street. It’s an architectural museum now or something. It is right across the street from the Broome Street police station. Downstairs was a tire store and there were these troll-like men who repaired tires down there and they had these vats where they would test to see if they were leaking. It was something right out of an opera by Wagner except that the blacksmiths were vulcanizers, which is perfect. And upstairs I had my loft, which was illegal, and Marcel loved it because it was. It had a door like Etant Donnes, a shackled door, and the little place was a mess but I had put in plumbing and we would all go down to Hester Street and buy plumbing supplies. We all got glass-lined water heaters that rusted but one of the joys of the place was that we couldn’t put an elbow in the tub, so it went straight. And we discovered that when you let the water out of the tub, it would explode downstairs in the tire tub. It was kind of Duchampian.
Tout-Fait: But he came by and visited you?
Robert Barnes: Yeah, not very often.
Tout-Fait: You were there in the early ’50s and you stayed in New York for how long? You were already married by then and you lived with your wife who was probably young and beautiful at the same time. So were the artists that you knew fond of her as well?
Robert Barnes: Yeah, Matta was. He wanted to steal her.
Tout-Fait: But Duchamp wasn’t hitting on her?
Robert Barnes: I wouldn’t have known if he was. She would have, but I wouldn’t have. Actually my wife was, at the time, beginning to show some symptoms of mental problems, so she didn’t go places. Her contact was rather limited.
Tout-Fait: So, you were there at the time when fame started setting in for Duchamp. There were more and more people approaching him. In this regard you mentioned something about “Mr. Availability.”
Robert Barnes: I think that was Teeny’s term. He was interested, I think, that was it. I don’t know why anyone paid attention to me because I was really wet behind the ears. He was awfully nice to me and listened to me and I don’t think I had much to say.
Tout-Fait: But they liked to have you around.
Robert Barnes: Yeah, I think I was decorative and I think they thought of me as maybe being someone to follow. Not follow, no, there was never any hint that I would follow anybody.
Tout-Fait: Well you were doing figurative oil on canvas and Duchamp, probably the others too, appreciated what you were doing since everyone else had stopped doing that. You said Duchamp liked the painting that was at the Whitney, your Judith and Holofernes of 1959/60. Taking into account his phobia regarding oil on canvas, did he encourage you to continue in that vein?
Robert Barnes: Yeah, he was very encouraging… because Duchamp had caused this disaster in the art world. Even during his lifetime he was beginning to realize that this was really an uncomfortable and ugly situation, people who mistook novelty for invention. And I think he’d like someone who ¡¦ well his whole bet was to follow what you are. I couldn’t be like him, I couldn’t even be like the surrealists. I certainly enjoyed their thinking, but I couldn’t go that way. I just did what I did and I still am. It makes you unpopular, maybe for a lifetime, but I’d rather do that than be popular and doubt what I am.
Tout-Fait: So that’s a quality he could appreciate.
Robert Barnes: He could appreciate that in anybody. Well, look at the people he liked. He did not have great taste in art. He loved a guy named Cremonini. Well Cremonini was a terrible artist. He was Italian and did those kind of long neck people with scrubby faces that didn’t have features.

Click to see video (QT.878KB)
Interview with Robert Barnes
Video 2
Interview with Robert Barnes
(Excerpt), January 2001.

Tout-Fait: Why do you think that he liked that kind of thing?
Robert Barnes: Well he liked him. He would have him over.
Tout-Fait: Well that’s always what he said. Look at the individual and not the art.
Robert Barnes: Well Cremonini was not likeable either. He was very conceited. Knobby head, that was very popular in those days and everyone did that. I think maybe one of the best and the worst thing Marcel offered people was a lack of discrimination. He didn’t discriminate. In doing so, he made the world easier, but by opening up, eliminating, abolishing decision-making tactics in deciding what is art, I think he created a terrible disaster. Because we don’t know what the hell we are doing, there are no standards. The standard now becomes fame or money, neither of which Marcel really cared about. He liked it but he did not ever pursue it. As a result, we have all of these people who want to be seen, and Marcel never wanted to be seen, he almost had to be picked out of life to be seen. I think, I don’t know what he would think if he were alive today, be amused, because he didn’t discriminate. He had this idea once, it comes from a conversation we had so I don’t know if it ever got said again. He wanted to know if we could decide what is art by having a vote. Have you ever heard that idea of his?
Tout-Fait: No.
Robert Barnes: Well he was going to have a world vote and everyone in the world would vote on what is art.
Tout-Fait: So they would get a little questionnaire?
Robert Barnes: Yeah and maybe something, pictures or something, but he thought it would be too hard to find pigmies and so he decided the only way to really get a democratic view of what art is was to have his questionnaire circulated in barber shops. In those days barbershops were not hair salons, they were just barbershops. You read dirty books and magazines and bought rubbers and it was easier than going to the drugstore. He liked those places and he thought that was probably the most democratic.
Tout-Fait: Only men would go there though.
Robert Barnes: Well I suppose he might have let the beauty parlors do the same thing. But that’s how he’d find out what art was.
Tout-Fait: Did anyone follow up on that?
Robert Barnes: No, you didn’t need to. The idea was good enough.
Tout-Fait: At the time you met him, most of the ready-mades were already lost, they only existed in old pictures, he made or bought a few reproductions in the1950s, then he came out with this edition in 1964 collaborating with the Milanese dealer and scholar Arturo Schwarz. Do you have any thoughts on the 1964 edition of the ready-mades?

click to enlarge
The
Locking Spoon
Figure 15
Marcel Ducham,The
Locking Spoon
, 1957

Robert Barnes: First of all, the ready-mades were always being readymade around Marcel. I mean,
things were always being put together or glued, like the spoon on the doorknob(Fig. 15) (8).
You don’t seem to come across any mention of the antlers at the top of the stairs.

Tout-Fait: No, what about those, what stairs?
Robert Barnes: Well they were right at the top of the stairs of his apartment near Bloomingdale’s on the East side. And that’s the apartment that had the great mailbox, Duchamp, Matisse, and Ernst. Art history’s mailbox, really. At the top of the stairs was a set of antlers, really at a dangerous height, so you were always afraid that somebody would come up too fast and get impaled but I think that was the purpose.
Tout-Fait: You could hit your head?
Robert Barnes: It was right about here [motions in front of his chin]. You sort of had to get around it. I remember another thing Duchamp had made. One time he had a way of telling what time it was with the help of mirrors. Either the clock was outdoors or indoors, I can’t remember where the clock was. But he had one mirror at the clock, there’s another that would reverse, and then there’s another that would reverse it back.

click to enlarge
The Clock in Profile
Figure 16
Marcel Duchamp,The Clock
in Profile
, 1964

Tout-Fait: Well he wrote that note of a clock in profile that you can’t tell the time from a clock in profile (Fig. 16). Maybe the idea with the mirrors circumvented that somehow. Did he have that installed in his apartment?
Robert Barnes: Yes.
Tout-Fait: Only temporarily?
Robert Barnes: I don’t remember what happened to it.
Tout-Fait: How many mirrors?
Robert Barnes: Three or five. It had to be an odd number.
Tout-Fait: From a clock tower?
Robert Barnes: No I don’t think so. I don’t know where the clock was. I’m old. That was forty years ago.
Tout-Fait: But what did he do with the antlers. What was the thing with the antlers? He just had them there?
Robert Barnes: Well it was in the hallway outside of the door.
Tout-Fait: Were things hanging from them?
Robert Barnes: No. It would be great to hang things from. His house was always filled with odd little things set up. They all did it. Matta did it too.
Tout-Fait: But the ready-made edition in 1964, why did he do that?
Robert Barnes: I was mad about that.Tout-Fait: You were not in New York anymore?
Robert Barnes: No I was away. And I said to him, “What on Earth possessed you?” Everyone thought that Arturo Schwarz initiated it as a moneymaking venture. I don’t know maybe it was moneymaking. It certainly would be for Arturo.
Tout-Fait: You went to Duchamp, you approached him, and you asked him this?
Robert Barnes: Yeah, I said that I couldn’t understand why he did it. And he explained that it was… I mean, I can make a parallel between the bride in The Glass and the bride fleshed out in Etant Donnes. It goes full circle. The bride is not fleshed and then becomes flesh. With the ready-mades, they were junk and their traversing of time brings them to commercial objects. He told me he was going to have the opening in Macy’s, but I think he was joking or didn’t know it, because they didn’t do it.
Tout-Fait: So when you asked him, what did he say why he did it?
Robert Barnes: That’s what he told me. It was a perfect transit of the readymade from discovery to the crassness of just being a commercial object and it is very interesting that something that was nothing becomes something by our commercial standards, and we judge by money. I mean we were discussing his urinal today. How much did you say that sold that for?

click to enlarge
Fountain
Figure 17
Marcel Duchamp,Fountain,
1964 (1917)

Tout-Fait: An example of the 1964 edition (Fig. 17) went for a little bit above $1.76 million in November 1999.
Robert Barnes: That wasn’t even the original. Here’s a thing where an idea becomes $1.6 million.
Tout-Fait: $1.76 million.
Robert Barnes: The traversing of time, and everything in Duchamp was about the process of transit, it brought a piece of junk toilet to someone who’s very wealthy or a museum’s halls. But it is still worth nothing. But someone paid one point something million.
Tout-Fait: In this case it was the Greek collector Dimitri Daskalopoulos, actually. Why would you think it is impossible for a lot of people to succeed in doing research on the original ready-mades –which Duchamp supposedly bought from stores–scholars like Thomas Zaunschirm or William Camfield writing an entire book about Fountain, or Kirk Varnedoe in 1990/1991, doing the High and Low: Modern Art & Popular Culture show at the Museum of Modern Art trying to find the original Comb (Fig. 18). Rhonda Roland Shearer is continuing to track down the original objects but you just can’t find them, even in the catalogues. Why would that be?

click to enlarge
Comb
Figure 18
Marcel
Duchamp, Comb,
1964 (1916)

Robert Barnes: Because they’re old junk. They’re old junk that lasts, pal.
Tout-Fait: Yeah, but the old catalogues, from the ’10s and ’20s, you should be able to find those things.
Robert Barnes: You’ve got the wrong catalogues, old catalogues get thrown away. But I just this love this business, “Oh, The urinal is a fountain of some¡¦” I mean art historians are bizarre. And again, I’m sure Marcel would be totally amenable to helping them create these bizarre attitudes, because it is again the transit of the thing into something else. It is transmuted and changed into something else. And certainly art history, if anything, transmutes art into something useless.
Tout-Fait: Art history keeps artists alive and Duchamp was always more interested in the audience that came after than in his contemporaries.
Robert Barnes: Self-glorification is what art history is about and “I have discovered this,” or “This is my area.” Crazy nitwits. “Duchamp is my area.” That’s goofy. But Duchamp would love that. He would love to have himself be their “area.” If there were any good looking ones, he’d like that too. But the whole idea of the transformation ¡¦ mystery, transformation, and manipulations–those were the things that Marcel was a magician at. That’s his magic.
Tout-Fait: Paul Matisse, who assembled Etant Donnes, in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, suggested that no one knew about the piece except Duchamp’s wife, Teeny, Duchamp himself, of course, and Maria Martins.
Robert Barnes: Well maybe it helped to sell it to people, make it more exotic.
Tout-Fait: When Bill Copley purchased Etant Donnes through his Cassandra Foundation (9), he knew about it too, so it wasn’t that big of a big secret. He purchased it and then gave it to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Now, we just talked about the erotic objects that were coming out in the ’50s. When you read reviews–and those people didn’t know about Etant Donnes in the making–they were, for example, described by the New York Times as “bizarre artifacts,” sexual objects of some sort. They didn’t know what to make of them.


click to enlarge
Bottle Rack
Figure 19
Marcel Duchamp,Bottle
Rack, 1964 (1914)

Robert Barnes: The Great Glass was a bizarre sexual object.
Tout-Fait: Almost everything, even the Bottle Rack (Fig. 19).
Robert Barnes: These were the horniest people on earth in an age where we were allowed to be horny without being arrested or sued.
Tout-Fait:I know, it’s a little sad nowadays. The first thing, even before he made the Female Fig Leaf, the Objet-Dard or Wedge of Chastity (Figs. 20, 21) –which he gave to Teeny as a wedding present–before all that he had already made the wedge section of the Wedge of Chastity, the inner sanctum of the Female Fig Leaf cast, if in fact it was a cast. It’s titled Not a Shoe (Fig. 22) and he gave it to Julian Levy (10) in 1950. Those two were pretty close, right?


click to enlarge
     

  • Dart-Object
    Figure 20
    Marcel Duchamp, Dart-Object,
    1951
    (first version)
  • Wedge of Chastity
    Figure21
    Marcel Duchamp,Wedge of
    Chastity,
    1954 (first version)
  • Not
A Shoe
    Figure 22
    Marcel Duchamp,Not
    A Shoe
    , 1950

 


click to enlarge
Robert Barnes,Alfred Stieglitz
Figure 23
Robert Barnes,Alfred Stieglitz,
1966 (as reproduced in Julien
Levy’s Memoir of an
Art Gallery
, New York: Putnam, 1977)
Click to enlarge
Book cover of Tom Swift
Figure 24
Book cover of Tom Swift ;His
Giant Magnet
(New York: Grosset;
Dunlap, 1932; cover illustration: Nat Falk)


Robert Barnes: Yes, Levy was very much like Marcel. They were very close in character. We used to call him the “Jewish Marcel Duchamp.” But he was a remarkable person in his own right. I always thought that it was sad that Julian did not make art. In the end, he did make videos. There are several of them around. I did a painting, an imaginary portrait of Alfred Stieglitz in 1966(Fig. 23), that Julian liked and bought. It was reproduced in Julian’s book Memoir of an Art Gallery and it was such a surprise to see it in there again. It is not a bad painting I guess. I once also did a portrait of Julian from memory that his wife Jean thought very accurate. It showed him with his fly open, which Julian was prone to have. He was phenomenal. Actually I had quite a falling out with Julian because he wanted me to illustrateJacob Again, a book he wrote, a semi-science fiction thing. And the truth is that it wasn’t very good and I couldn’t illustrate it and I doodled around but Julian got impatient with me. I didn’t know what to say.


Tout-Fait: Talking about semi-science, you said there were teenage books that you and Duchamp shared a passion for.

Robert Barnes: Oh, yeah, no one knows about that, do they? Tom Swift and the Giant Magnet(Fig. 24). Tom Swift was a character, I don’t know who wrote them, but they were great children’s books(11).
Tout-Fait: So you were reading them at the time?
Robert Barnes: No, we both knew about them. I don’t know if they got translated into French or where he came across them. He probably found them in the Strand Bookstore or something.
Tout-Fait: How did you get to talk about that?
Robert Barnes: I don’t know how. Maybe I mentioned that some of his things were like the inventions of Tom Swift. Tom Swift was a great inventor, probably much better than Marcel. Some Duchamp scholar should read Tom Swift to see if there’s any correlation with anything.
Tout-Fait: When would Duchamp have first come across the Tom Swift books?
Robert Barnes: Well, I don’t know. Tom Swift books were popular in the ’30s and ’40s and probably even the ’50s.
Tout-Fait: Coming back to the surrealists you knew, Max Ernst was the earliest “acquaintance.” You said you ran away from home when you were 15, and you ran into him in Arizona where he resided with Dorothea Tanning between 1946 and 1953.
Robert Barnes:In Sedona. I didn’t know who the hell he was.
Tout-Fait: You were getting rid of his trash and then you bumped into him again when you were in New York.
Robert Barnes: Yeah. That’s a real odd coincidence because I worked with a friend and we would collect trash from rich people. And Max lived in Sedona then. I wonder what happened to that place. I’m sure his son Jimmy got it and Jimmy is dead now.
Tout-Fait: He was not rich really.


click to enlarge
Max Ernst,Capricorn
Figure 25
Max Ernst,Capricorn,
1947(cast in 1964)

Robert Barnes: No, but we thought he was rich. We didn’t have anything. But we would go around to these homes in Sedona and offer to get rid of their garbage. And in places like that garbage is big business, you never get rid of it. And we offered to take it and dispose of it in a “clean and orderly fashion,” which meant we would dump it in any place we could where no one would see it. My friend had a pick-up truck – all Navahos if they have a vehicle, have turquoise pick-up. And we loaded it up with this plaster from this guy’s home, with faces on it, they were kind of interesting, and dumped them. So somewhere up there if you want to excavate, there’s a whole bunch of rejected Max Ernst sculpture. I have a picture of myself sitting on his “King and Queen”-sculpture (Fig. 25)(12).I looked like I was twelve.
Tout-Fait: While you were down there?
Robert Barnes: Yeah.
Tout-Fait: Who took the picture of you, your friend?
Robert Barnes: Yeah. Max Ernst was very shadowy. Whenever he stayed in New York, he stayed at Marcel’s.
Tout-Fait: What about Man Ray?
Robert Barnes: I didn’t like him.
Tout-Fait: You mentioned that Duchamp once introduced you to a dealer of ethnic art.
Robert Barnes: Yeah, Carlebach I think he was called.
Tout-Fait: Did he take you there?
Robert Barnes: The first time, I went with him. Carlebach was a dealer in ethnic material and he had this store filled, it was what you would expect a junk shop to have, filled from floor to ceiling with all of these ju-ju’s. You could buy an African sculpture for a couple hundred dollars or less.
Tout-Fait: So Duchamp brought you there because he liked the place?
Robert Barnes: Yes.
span class=”textbold”>Tout-Fait: Was there any literature that he recommended to you?
Robert Barnes: Oh yeah. Dujardin and Lautreamont, they all loved Lautreamont, but I’m not going to get into that. The book that was most like Marcel, I don’t know wether he loved it or not, was by A Rebours by Huysmans, Against the Grain. It was so like Marcel. That’s a story of art. Put too much on it and it’s going to die. Actually, Marcel introduced me to French literature, Camus, Celine, he was a bad boy. And of course I never liked Beckett. Beckett is the literary equivalent of Bergmann films, which at the time were very exciting, but if you saw them again, you would get very embarrassed (13).

click to enlarge
cover for The Opposition and
Sister Squares Reconciled
Figure 26
Marcel Duchamp, cover for
The Opposition and
Sister Squares Reconciled
, 1932

Tout-Fait: So Duchamp introduced you to Beckett.
Robert Barnes: Yeah, he mentioned it and then I read it.
Tout-Fait: Beckett’s End Game might in part be based on Marcel’s chess game problem (14)
(Fig. 26). Do you play chess?
Robert Barnes: Yes, I hate it. I absolutely hate it. I played with Marcel because he liked to play with people who didn’t know how to play chess. You know, a chess champion is used to gambits and if he plays with someone who has no idea what they should be doing, it is almost more taxing. He liked that. I would put the pieces in positions that I thought were decorative. And of course I would surrender.
Tout-Fait: Did he teach you?
Robert Barnes: No, it was just a pastime. And what would happen would be that I would sacrifice so many pieces that it was very hard to get a checkmate. Everything is being sacrificed and it was just totally disorganized and I think that was something that Marcel liked.
Tout-Fait: There is this story that he got annoyed with John Cage (15)complaining that Cage never even tried to win. So there was also something where people were good chess players and he just didn’t think that they were trying hard enough to beat him.
Robert Barnes: That was a strange relationship. Didn’t Cage hate Etant Donnes?
Tout-Fait: I don’t know about that.
Robert Barnes: It was a weird relationship and I think egos went¡¦
Tout-Fait: But Cage owes a lot to Duchamp. It’s not the other way around. But now for something completely different: Paul Swan I’m supposed to ask you about. So who was Paul Swan?
Robert Barnes: God, if there was a Duchampian theater, it was Paul Swan. I did paintings with Paul Swan, I’ll show you one later, pastels. Paul Swan was an occupant of the apartments in the Carnegie Hall when the Carnegie Hall was great and real before it was fixed and made up for the deluxe world. In Carnegie Hall there were apartments and they were slowly getting rid of people who were in these apartments because they wanted them back either for space or for rich people. But Paul Swan held on. It was like, you know, what happened in New York with rent control.
Tout-Fait: How old was he?
Robert Barnes: I’ll tell you in a minute. He was very old. And in order to stay and pay the rent, Paul would have his soirees on Saturday evenings and you could go, he couldn’t charge because it was his apartment but there was a donation box. And he would dance and then he would give a little lecture. If you timed it right, you would get in on Paul’s bacchanal. And Marcel introduced me. Matta found Paul Swan, made Marcel go, and then he became a fan. And the best thing that he did was the bacchanal of the Sahara Desert in which he danced naked, virtually; he had veils, very gay. All by himself, he would do the bacchanal of the Sahara Desert losing his veils and ending up totally naked. Paul was in his late 80’s at this time and then he would stand in front of the audience stark naked and would explain the reason why his body was in such great condition and why his skin was so perfect was that he bathed daily in a vat of olive oil and that everyone should do that if they want to stay as young as he is. And he was one of the first health food addicts, he and Francis Stella, they were the first ones to be fanatical about health food. The trouble is, only Paul Swan thought that he still had smooth skin that looked really young. He was really a wreck. His little thingy was all shriveled. And of course everyone would throw money into the box afterwards because it was such a marvelous event.
Tout-Fait: So it wasn’t publicly advertised? Only artists went there basically? It was only known through word of mouth?
Robert Barnes: Yeah, basically. The thing is, he must have made a fortune because no one wanted Paul to get kicked out of Carnegie Hall. I don’t know what happened. I went to Europe after that and lost track but he probably died. Oh, those performances were so superb. It made the happenings seem mundane. You know, they think they started that stuff down at Judson Church. No! Swan’s soirees were a million times more exciting.
Tout-Fait: Every week?
Robert Barnes: I don’t know. I think every week.
Tout-Fait: How many people were there usually?
Robert Barnes: Twenty people. I know Matta always loved to go there and a whole group would go up there.
Tout-Fait: I have another question: You have a few works by Duchamp that he simply gave to you. That was very generous at the time. What did you think?
Robert Barnes: He gave something to me and he would always say, “Look, if you need money sometime, you could probably sell this.” We were thinking like a couple hundred dollars probably. I never sold them. I’ve had hard times. I’m sentimental.
Tout-Fait: It’s not about monetary value; it’s about this guy giving it to you.
Robert Barnes: I’m also not a “hem of the cloak” person.

click to enlarge
Robert Barnes,Belle Haleine
Figure 27
Robert Barnes,Belle
Haleine
, ca. 1995

Tout-Fait: What’s that?
Robert Barnes: Touching Marcel’s hand to become empowered. You know, I did a painting about Marcel and I hate myself for it(Fig. 27).
Tout-Fait: I like it.
Robert Barnes: Well I don’t because I swore that I would never use Marcel in any way as a stepping-stone to anything.
Tout-Fait: Which a lot of people did who didn’t know him as well as you.
Robert Barnes: Yeah, well if you notice, the people that really did know Marcel, don’t like to talk about him. The fact that I’m doing this is really kind of weird. I shouldn’t be. And in some ways it is blasphemous. But there is nothing to blaspheme if you don’t turn Marcel into a God. Marcel was normal and very, very bourgeois. He was a normal guy, very normal. He smoked terrible cigars. He smoked “Blackstones” and he also smoked “La Frederic,” which is like smoking rope.
Tout-Fait: He never did any drugs?
Robert Barnes: No, why would he? Wine’s good enough, isn’t it?
Tout-Fait: Now, Duchamp¡¦

click to enlarge
Marcel Duchamp’s tombstone
Figure 28
Marcel Duchamp’s tombstone
at the Cimitiere Monumental
in Rouen, France

Robert Barnes: He’s dead now, you notice? What is it on his grave? It’s wonderful.
Tout-Fait: “Besides, it’s always the others that die” (Fig. 28). I like that too. We were talking before about how he gave you three or four works of his, and you didn’t ask him for, he didn’t want to get paid for…
Robert Barnes: Get paid?! Marcel never got paid anything.
Tout-Fait: ¡¦for the favors that you did for him or was it just because he felt a certain friendship towards you?
Robert Barnes: That’s what makes real friendship comfortable, when you don’t count favors. I’ve counted favors, all on his side. The guy was generous. Everyone knew that and I think that probably people did take advantage of him. I’m not sure that Schwarz didn’t.
Tout-Fait: And you didn’t run to him and want him to sign certain stuff.
Robert Barnes: Oh yeah, sign.
Tout-Fait: Well that’s good, because some people did.
Robert Barnes: “Oh, mister, can I have your autograph on my ball?”
Tout-Fait: And he probably wouldn’t have refused.
Robert Barnes: No he wouldn’t have.
Tout-Fait: You left New York when?
Robert Barnes: I’m not sure. I went to London to Slade School and had more contact with Matta and Copley, because Copley had a home over there. I had a great dinner once at Copley’s house. We ate off of Magritte plates with parts of the body painted on them and since we were guests of honor, my wife and I (my first wife) got first choice. She got the male plate and I got the female plate. Thought you might have hair in your food, kind of an interesting dinner. Matta always made things interesting.
Tout-Fait: And Matta you were the closest with, he introduced you to everyone and he was just one wild person.
Robert Barnes: Yeah he was a good painter too. You know, I’m not sure where Matta fits in, in the history. You know, who cares. What’s interesting is that we’re living in a generation of young people who are constantly preoccupied with their place in history. What the hell does it matter? Marcel never thought about that. Maybe later on when he started cataloguing stuff, he starting thinking that maybe he wanted to leave some legacy. But legacy is bullshit. But everyone now is “where’s my place in history.” How many times can you ask?
Tout-Fait: Well your generation will not decide who makes it into the history books.
Robert Barnes: No one will decide. Some lizard or something might decide in the final. But people are so worried about whether they are going to be known. Now they create money and become attached to it. I thank God I lived in the era of Marcel and those people, who weren’t. Money was certainly not much of a preoccupation. It drifted across their brains, but it was definitely not much of a preoccupation. It was interesting, I did a talk on de Kooning. (16)
While they were circulating that show of his and I got to the middle of the talk and I suddenly realized and said it out loud that I didn’t think anyone thought they were going to make money from their work, a lot of money, and it wasn’t until the ’70s that it started changing and people started clawing each other to get known, get a gallery, a good gallery, to get this and get that and the art is boring because of it. I mean how much can you be shocked by all the latest things? We have some guy cutting off pieces of his penis in a gallery, good for him.
Tout-Fait: Well it becomes shallow and hollow and everything has been done before and done better mostly.
Robert Barnes: I’m afraid Marcel unleashed some of that and I know he knew it and I think he was a little bit dismayed or amused; it would be both in this case.
Tout-Fait: Well that is what Apollinaire, who first wrote about him in 1913, said– that he was the artist who was going to reconcile people and art (17).The people and art come together and I think in a weird way he did.
Robert Barnes: And then you have to decide whether you want that. It sounds good but I’m not sure that’s what you want. I mean I’m really kind of intrigued by the bardic tradition as the artist being a mysterious power or medium. And in a lot of ways Marcel fit that very well. The Bards could intervene in worlds and stop them and create a poem that would solve everything. Not very realistic. There is something about art not being democratic that might be good. I certainly couldn’t justify it. But I’m functioning on instinct; maybe it’s not good that it’s available so much.
Tout-Fait: I think it is probably something that will change again. Maybe people will get into something else and then art is just there and will survive on its own, hibernating. Look at what is happening to poetry now. Not too many people read poetry. Poetry is really in a state of hibernation. And I mean you don’t really know. Two hundred years down the line poetry might be “the thing.” Everyone goes there and reads that as much as art is being looked at today. That very well might happen but we don’t know.

click to enlarge
Interview with Robert Barnes
Video 3
Interview with Robert Barnes
(Excerpt), January 2001.

Robert Barnes: I don’t object to what’s going on in contemporary art but I do think that it’s kind of boring. I also think that it is so closely meshed with fashion. That fashion brand having the show at the Guggenheim, what show was that?
Tout-Fait: The Armani Show at The Guggenheim, New York, between October 2000 and February 2001.
Robert Barnes: It is totally appropriate. Since it is hard to distinguish art from fashion anyhow. It is kind of interesting that always in the kind of painting that I did, people were denigrating the idea that art imitates life. What we have now is life imitating art and it’s recoiled on us a little bit, hasn’t it?
Tout-Fait: Now with your own art, what I’ve looked at and what I’ve seen in catalogues always seems to be in action, very much so.
Robert Barnes: Figure it out. I mean, what did you do today? We kept moving.
Tout-Fait: Futuristic approach.
Robert Barnes: Oh no, that’s what Marcel knew, transience, everything is in transit and you have to watch it and watch it evolve and transit. Going to a store and watching things move and turn into junk.
Tout-Fait: There are some historic figures that you refer to in your paintings.
Robert Barnes: There is Joyce, Tzara, Stieglitz (18).I really admired Tzara, he reminded me of myself when I was younger.
Tout-Fait: Did you meet him?
Robert Barnes: Once at a thing. It was way towards the end of his life, I think the last year of his life. I don’t remember when he died, in the ’60s. And he said that he thought the last bastion of an icon class was a conservative state.
Tout-Fait: And that’s where we are?

click to enlarge
George W.Bush
Figure 29
George W.Bush, 43rd
President of the United States

Robert Barnes: No I don’t think that’s where we are, but I think that if you want something shocking anymore, it might have to be very conservative. Maybe that’s why we elected that guy with the tiny little (Fig. 29). Things flip back and forth. We’ve experienced so much license. I love license, I love not being under control. But we’ve experienced so much of it that it gets jaded. I mean, sex, sex is boring to kids. I always thought it was my daughters whom I should prohibit having sex and tell them that they can’t do this and it’s terrible so that they’d enjoy it. I thought holding hands was exciting when I was kid, now fucking is about that level, so where do you go up? Maybe killing people or something.
Tout-Fait: That’s true. There’s also a big movement of women who want to stay virgins until they get married.
Robert Barnes: Heh, try it.
Tout-Fait: You put yourself in a very interesting position of course where people will come knock on your door.
Robert Barnes: I have no objection to the drama and distance that people go through to get attention with their so-called works of art, except that they are getting known and I don’t like it. I don’t like getting known to art, particularly.
Tout-Fait: In a way, since there are no more movements…
Robert Barnes: Do you know what killed the movements? When someone decided to call the last movement that we heard of Neo-Geo. Even the yuppies laughed when you uttered that one, they did try Neo-romanticism after that. That was so pathetic.
Tout-Fait: Well because there is a lot of individuality going on, I think that in order to be an artist you also have to have social skills, to be a socializer, you know, schmoozing up to the right people and all to get exposure so that you will win a gallery show. Now it’s not in the hand of artists anymore. In a way it is tough to get back from there.
Robert Barnes: You know, Dada thought that they were anti-art. The social extremes of art is what really created an anti-art atmosphere and at a certain point it got exciting to see something that wasn’t trying to bop you. But I don’t know if we can go back to a state where we enter into something that is coming at us. And you know I always thought that the worst thing that happened – and I really didn’t discourage my children from it – was Sesame Street. Everyone raised their hands and said “Isn’t that wonderful, our children are learning the alphabet.” They are being shrieked at by purple animals and then at a certain point school started to entertain the students. I mean I ran into that in college. The best professors, the ones that are really given the awards, were the ones that were very eccentric, entertainers, and that’s nuts.
Tout-Fait: The entertainment thing is very American. That you have to entertain.
Robert Barnes: What it does is it closes you out of the act. It makes you victim of the act but it closes you out of the experience. All of your experience is sensation and you’re not allowed to move in. When I’m in Italy, I love to go see some of these Renaissance paintings that you can’t leave. You have to stay in those paintings; you can’t just say “look I’m shocked” and then go on. No, you look and you wonder.
Tout-Fait: That has already started with the reproduction of images in catalogues since the early 20th century. You are conditioned. You flip through them and you can look at all of this stuff very fast and no one is really strained, it is not demanded of you and you are not trained to appreciate art by looking at it for a very long time. Or by making that effort because you think that everything should be fast and then move on.
Robert Barnes: Well I’m not complaining. I think it’s good and that if it does destroy art as a thing, art as a possession or a commodity, then that is fine. We will start at another level and find something else.
Tout-Fait: Can you repeat the story about the turtle again that’s been sitting on your lap since the beginning of our interview?
Robert Barnes: There’s a guy in Michigan. I used to buy stuffed animals, taxidermy. He’s a master. I mean this turtle is beautiful, it even has mud on his back. It’s just a gorgeous piece of art, this thing. And he was a master, I mean I went up there and he was stuffing a polar bear.
Tout-Fait: You needed these for your art basically?
Robert Barnes: Yeah I like them around. My wife paints still-lives with them in it and I just like them to be here. Maybe it’s because they’re not supposed to be here. Well I would call him and he would sell me things that people would pay him a deposit to do and never come back for them. So I would pay the other part of the fee and they were cheap, like thirteen, fifteen dollars. So all of the sudden I tried calling and I could not get through and finally I checked up and called information and, I guess it can be told now, this guy tells me, “we had his phone tapped for a year.” Turns out he had been stuffing his animals with dope. A great way when you think of it. Who is going to suspect? If this turtle here is full of cocaine that would be very nice. I still don’t think I would open it up because it is too beautiful.
Tout-Fait: Is that the place where you got the pigskin?
Robert Barnes: No, no this was much later.
Tout-Fait: Do you remember the place where you got the pigskin?
Robert Barnes: I think it was in Trenton.
Tout-Fait: In Trenton, where he supposedly got the urinal.
Robert Barnes: Trenton’s a great place.
Tout-Fait: Was that a meat place?
Robert Barnes: A butcher. I didn’t know the urinal came from there. Trenton might be an art center. Did you ever think of that?
Tout-Fait: That was where the Trenton Pottery was, where Duchamp’s Mutt-urinal was supposedly made.
Robert Barnes: You see it’s an art center.
Tout-Fait: Why go to a butcher in Trenton if there are so many in New York?
Robert Barnes: Because no one would do it. Can you get pigskin off without wrecking it?
Tout-Fait: No, but that butcher could?

click to enlarge
Titian,The Flaying of Marsyas
Figure 30
Titian,The Flaying of
Marsyas
, 1575-1576

Robert Barnes:I guess so. I live in this country village in Italy and the guy that butchers pigs every year asked me “Roberto, I want you to help me with the slaughter tomorrow.” And I said, “Vittorio, I’m a painter, not really a butcher.” And he said, “I have to get up at four in the morning. I want to be with someone who is a good conversationalist. I’ll show you how to kill pigs.” And he did. If you knew what was inside of pigs, you wouldn’t eat them. It was awful stuff. But it was interesting and that’s what got me started to do paintings about the Flaying of Marsyas (Fig. 30)(19),it means the removal of the external self in the Renaissance and I always liked the idea of peeling away layers. The painting came much later so I must have had the Duchampian idea on my mind of peeling away a skin and putting it somewhere else. People used to dress and masquerade in skins sometimes, not just furs, but sometimes other people’s skins. Anyway, the Italian butcher had me killing these pigs and it really is a shocking experience. Pigs are very human and it is very much like a human sacrifice. I did a lot of Flaying of Marsyas paintings after that. I never did a pig, but it is an act that you don’t forget.
Tout-Fait: You’re not happy with pop art?
Robert Barnes: Well why, I’m not unhappy either.
Tout-Fait: While we took our stroll through the Bloomington Art Museum you looked at certain paintings and said “Oh my God.”
Robert Barnes: Well I remember I had kids books “look at the spot” and then you’d look away and see a spot, so what? You know what we’ve done over the last hundred years? We have dissected the work of art. You have optical art, which is the visual, you have abstract expression, which was so involved with the touch, and I still love that. That’s probably why I don’t do other things because I love the feel of paint, very sensual, very sexual.
Tout-Fait: Touch is something you are never allowed to do in museums.
Robert Barnes: Museums are another story. They are mortuaries. You have abstract expression, which deals with surface, optical art, which is the effects of light and dark, of colors, you have pop art, which deals with subject matter. Basically the idea and sensation of the image left behind tactility and in some cases the optical effect of color. Duchamp represented the bigger idea of art as an idea or idea as the gas, motivated by the gas of the people, and that is probably the best of the bunch. If you keep dissecting, even conceptual art is just the idea. I always think that conceptual art grew out of the academic.
Tout-Fait: Conceptual art owes to Duchamp as well.
Robert Barnes: Yeah but see Duchamp appealed to the academics because he was an intellectual. Not that they ever understood it or ever would or could or should, but it was an intellectual act, so they had to distort it. The revenge, the way academics wreck art is by explaining it. It’s the most obscene thing you do. And look at the books on Marcel, thousands of books on Marcel, all of them falling over each other to explain. The best would be a book that is so absurd that it becomes another work, almost a readymade or some absurdity. But at any rate, I think that the conceptual art grew out of the academics, explaining so much that they finally did the ultimate thing, got rid of the act of art or work and had only the explanation of it. That’s fine, terrific, but I don’t like the pieces.
Tout-Fait: The only thing Duchamp wasn’t was political.
Robert Barnes: I never heard him say anything¡¦ political in what way?
Tout-Fait: Well, all of his known remarks on politics and world affairs probably do not exceed five hundred words.
Robert Barnes: Don’t you ever think that is the artist’s posture?
Tout-Fait: Well I would think that you would be a little bit more concerned about both world wars, nuclear bombs, and even the student riots in 1968.
 

click to enlarge
Pablo Picasso, Guernica
Figure 31
Pablo Picasso, Guernica, 1937

Robert Barnes: If you lookat it, Picasso (20)was very artificial in terms of his political acts, even the communist party was so inept that he didn’t like it.
Tout-Fait: Well Guernica (Fig. 31)was always¡¦
Robert Barnes: Well I’m not sure that that was even a factor, it didn’t certainly stop anything. Politics and art. Politics is always pathetic when it gets involved in art.
Tout-Fait: Well the other way around, you just talked about being the bard, being able to stop the war.
Robert Barnes: Well we can’t do that anymore. Walking onto the battlefield is a little easier than having missiles shot at you. I think that the political posture is almost designed for the artist. It’s pathetic. I like to shock people by saying that war is probably the ultimate work of art, so ultimate that, if you don’t do it well, you get killed. Artists are always talking about how hard it is to be an artist or make works or how painful¡¦ War is really horrible, painful, and if you do make a mistake, you don’t get a chance to erase it or wipe it off a canvas. I always think artists are such ninnies. I mean we can change everything and in a sense that is good but if you run over somebody on the street, you can’t back up and have them come back to life. In painting, if you make a mistake or everything goes wrong, you can wipe it off.
Tout-Fait: Because they’re suffering so much without actually experiencing¡¦
Robert Barnes: There’s no suffering involved in a work of art. But maybe realizing that you’re stupid is suffering.
Tout-Fait: So a lot more people are involved in the arts that probably should be doing something else.
Robert Barnes: Well 99% probably. That’s why they teach.

click to enlarge

  • Robert Barnes and his studio
  • Robert Barnes and his studio

 

  • Robert Barnes and his studio
  • Robert Barnes and his studio
  • Robert Barnes and his studio

Robert Barnes and his studio, Bloomington, January 2001
 
click images to enlarge

Robert Barnes,Oak
Robert Barnes,Oak (Duir), 2000


 

Notes

Footnote Return *Art Historian Herbert Molderings, with whom I have discussed this matter prior to the publication of this interview, expressed some doubt that–based on his recent research with specialists–the material used for the torso of Etant Donnes could actually be pigskin. (Only an examination of the material used for Given‘s torso, conducted by the Philadelphia Museum of Art, could once and for all clarify this matter). In a follow-up conversation with Robert Barnes (via phone on 1/14/2002), the artist, in addition to what he had said in the initial interview, recalled to have picked up the pigskin at a dock from a butcher dressed in a white apron. He picked up one big barrel, filled with water or brine which, upon delivery, was left at the base of the staircase leading up to Duchamp’s apartment since it was too heavy for both men to carry upstairs.

Footnote Return 1.Chilean Surrealist painter Roberto Matta Echaurren (*1911) had met and admired Duchamp even before his arrival in New York in 1939. For more information on Matta and his relationship to Duchamp, see the introduction to this issue’s facsimile in the “Collection”-square, Rarity from 1944: A Facsimile of Duchamp’s Glass (by Katherine S. Dreier and Roberto Matta Echaurren)

Footnote Return 2. Between late 1951 and April 3, 1959, Duchamp (when in New York), lived in an apartment on 327 East 58th Street together with his wife Alexina “Teeny” Sattler whom he married on January 16, 1954. The fourth-floor walk-up was still rented by the German Surrealist painter Max Ernst (1891-1976) and his wife, the American Surrealist artist Dorothea Tanning (* 1910), both of whom moved to France in 1951.

Footnote Return 3.German-born avant-garde artist and filmmaker Hans Richter. The chess-game based story of 8×8, shot in the United States and featuring, among others, Jackie Matisse and Marcel Duchamp, includes a sequence showing the latter as the Black King.

Footnote Return click to enlarge Balthus Balthus, (Untitled),1963

4. Long after the interview, it came to my attention that Virginie Monnier – in her “Catalog of Works” published in Jean Clair’s (ed.) Balthus exhibition catalogue for the late artist’s major retrospective at the Palazzo Grassi, Venice, 9 September 2001 – 6 January 2002 (Milan: Bompiani, 2001) – had described Courbet’s famous painting as incorrect. Comparing it to an untitled pencil drawing by Balthus from 1963 (a Courbet rasee, so to speak, though Balthus’ adolescent model might not have had any hair to speak of), which was obviously inspired by Courbet, Monnier writes: “[I]ndeed it reproduces an anatomical inaccuracy that in Courbet had caused outrage: the cleft of the vulva, as thin as a line, goes all the way to the crease of the anus, ignoring the anatomical particularities of the female body.” (p. 388)

Footnote Return 5.Brazilian Surrealist sculptor Maria Martins (1894-1973); between ca. 1943-1948, Duchamp had an intense liaison with the wife of the Brazilian ambassador to the United States. For a detailed discussion of the early stages of Given‘s production, see the article Marcel Duchamp’s Window Display for Andre Breton’s Le Surrealisme et la Peinture, 1945 in the Articles-section of this issue of Tout-Fait.

Footnote Return 6.Spanish Surrealist artist Joan Miro (1893-1983).

Footnote Return 7.Romanian-born Constantin Brancusi (1876-1957) was one of 20th century’s leading sculptors and a close friend of Duchamp’s from their early years in Paris. For some time, Duchamp became his representative, selling Brancusi’s sculptures, mostly to affluent American collectors.

Footnote Return 8.Duchamp’s Locking Spoon (or Verrou de surete a la cuiller), a semi-readymade involving the door of his New York apartment in 1957, is based on a modified pun first printed in Francis Picabia’s 391 in July 1924.

Footnote Return 9.The American artist, dealer and collector William Copley (1919-1996) met Duchamp in New York in the early 1940s and became an avid supporter and friend. His Cassandra Foundation purchased Etant Donnes and assured its transfer to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Footnote Return 10. American art dealer Julien Levy (1906-1981) was the first to sponsor a show on Surrealism and he is generally regarded as having played an essential role in the shift of the cultural avant-garde from Paris to New York. He and Duchamp oftentimes collaborated on various shows and projects.

Footnote Return 11.Mostly written by Howard Garis under the pseudonym “Victor Appleton,” the highly popular juvenile literature series of Tom Swift’s adventures were published in 40 individual volumes by Grosset & Dunlap between 1910 – 1941. Every book featured a great abundance of scientific inventions. In the spirit of Jules Verne, Alfred Jarry and (to a lesser extent) Raymond Roussel, the books must certainly have held some charm for Duchamp.

 

Footnote Return 12.According to Dorothea Tanning, Max Ernst’s sculpture Capricorn (Sedona, 1947) was first conceived as a garden sculpture “of regal but benign deities that consecrated our ‘garden’ and watched over its inhabitants.” (See: Dorothea Tanning, Birthday (San Francisco: Lapis, 1986) Ernst himself referred to the sculpture as a family portrait, depicting Dorothea, his two dogs and himself. It was cast in bronze and first turned into an edition in 1964.

Footnote Return 13.French writer Edouard Dujardin’s (1868-1947) Les Lauriers sont coupees, 1888 (or The Laurels Have Been Cut), is often regarded to be the first novel introducing direct interior monologue; the writings of French author Isidore Ducasse (aka Comte de Lautreamont, 1846-1870) were held in high esteem by the Surrealists, who regarded his eccentric writing as a precursor to their own movement (especially his Les Chants de Maldoror, 1869); decadent French novelist and art critic Joris Karl Huysmans (1848-1907), A rebours, 1884; French existentialist writer Albert Camus (1913-1960); French novelist Louis Ferdinand Celine (1894-1961); Irish playwright and novelist Samuel Beckett (1906 -1989), End Game, 1957; Swedish film and theater director Ingmar Bergman (*1918)

Footnote Return 14.In 1932, together with the chess master Vitaly Halberstadt, Marcel Duchamp co-wrote and designed a book on a highly specific endgame situation in chess, L’Oppostion et les cases conjuguees sont reconciliees (or Opposition and Sister Squares are Reconciled), published in French, German and English by L’Echiquir (Edmond Lancel): Brussels.

Footnote Return 15.American avant-garde musician John Cage (1912-1992) came under Duchamp’s spell soon after Cage arrived in New York in 1942.

Footnote Return 16.Willem de Kooning (1904-1997). Born in Rotterdam, the action painter was one of the founding members of what came to be known as The New York School.

Footnote Return 17.French poet, art critic, writer and socialite Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) was an early admirer of Duchamp. In his book of 1913, Les Peintres Cubistes, he made the statement that “[p]erhaps it will be the task of an artist as detached from aesthetic preoccupations and as intent on the energetic as Marcel Duchamp, to reconcile art and the people.

Footnote Return 18.The Irish writer James Joyce (1882-1941), author of Ulysses, 1922, and Finnegans Wake, 1939; early Romanian Dadaist Tristan Tzara (1896-1963); Alfred Stieglitz (1864-1946), influential American photographer and promoter of photography as an independent form of art.

Footnote Return 19. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the satyr Marsyas challenged Apollo in a contest with a flute. After the muses declared his defeat, Apollo flayed him. Ever since the sculptures of the Hellenistic Period (often using the fable as a means to extol their knowledge of the human anatomy), this theme has inspired artists in all fields throughout the ages. Our example shows the myth as depicted in oil on canvas by the Italian Renaissance painter Titian.

Footnote Return 20.Pablo Picasso (1881-1973). Considered by many to be one of the 20th century’s pre-eminent artist’s most important paintings, Guernica depicts the horrors of the German bombing of the Spanish town of Guernica on April 26, 1937. The nationalist regime of General Franco had asked the German Luftwaffe’s “Legion Condor” to bomb the Basque town during the Spanish Civil War.

Fig. 1-3, 4-6, 8, 9, 11, 14, 15-17, 18-22, 26, 28

¨Ï2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Duchamp and September 11

A cliché of American culture proclaims that baseball (or any other institution of such popular and iconic stature) imitates life. Any enthusiast must avoid the danger implicit in this remark: the tendency to see a linkage between a favorite subject of one’s obsession and absolutely anything else in this enormous world of ours. Thus, even to postulate a relationship between Marcel Duchamp and the tragedy of September 11, 2001 should seem risible prima facie. Would Osama shaved look like Marcel? Both had thin faces. . . You see what I mean. Such nonsense goes nowhere.


click to enlarge
Woolworth Building, New York
Cass Gilbert, Woolworth
Building, New York City, 1911-1913
Woolworth Building at Night
Woolworth Building
at Night, New York City, between 1910 and 1920

But, in fact, a quite close and reasonable connection does exist, through the great building that still stands just two blocks from Ground Zero, and Duchamp’s provocative suggestion that this structure, the Woolworth Building then the world’s tallest, should be proclaimed a readymade by simple inscription. But let me introduce the tale with a personal experience. My wife and I were in the air (returning from Italy to New York) when the Twin Towers fell, and we ended up with an involuntary five-day “vacation” in Halifax before we could get home. As we tried to piece together the tale, from a slurry of rumors and cell-phone conversations on the plane (we were kept on the tarmac for 10 hours before disembarkation), we finally realized that the two towers had indeed collapsed. My first thought went to the horrendous death toll (then feared far higher, for we did not know that the buildings had stood for about an hour each, thus allowing most people inside to escape). My second thought went to our home, (and the nerve-center of ASRL and place of publication for Tout-Fait), just a mile from Ground Zero. But my third thought went to my all-time favorite and gorgeous skyscraper in my beloved natal city – the Woolworth Building. Had this great structure fallen too? Surely it must be damaged, probably beyond repair, for the Woolworth Building stands at the very periphery of Ground Zero. Well, this grandest lady of architecture stood tall, bearing nary a scratch, in renewed and secure domination of the still-great skyline of lower Manhattan – all as described in the piece below (written for Natural History, and including the Duchampian connection and its meaning to this aficionado).

Incidentally, I must state another connection between ASRL and the events of that tragic day – this time more immediate and heroic (and within my right to say, even as a spouse to the main actor, because my role has been largely limited to observation and advocacy, rather than to action, and I cannot be accused of personal bragging). Rhonda Shearer and her daughter London Allen, realizing that her studio space lay less than a mile north of Ground Zero, converted this ground-floor and high-ceilinged room into a supply depot for storing and bringing needed safety equipment to rescue workers at Ground Zero (and the Fresh Kills landfill site, where the wreckage is brought and further searched for human remains). Rhonda and London have been working nearly fulltime on this effort since then, often with the help of ASRL personnel, including the compilers and editors of Tout-Fait (see their website at http://www.wtcgroundzerorelief.org). They have masterfully weaved in and around an incredible maze of inefficiency (and downright nastiness) in official city supply chains that seem unable to get equipment to the site themselves. So our ASRL cadre has driven trucks, night after night, right down past the Woolworth Building to Ground Zero, delivering the needed supplies into the hands of the workers themselves.

(The following is a reprint of Stephen Jay Gould’s “Restoration and the Woolworth Building,” in: Natural History 110, 10A (Winter 2001/2002), pp. 96-97)

Restoration and the Woolworth Building

by Stephen Jay Gould

The astronomical motto of New York State—excelsior (literally “higher,” or, more figuratively, “ever upward”)—embodies both the dream and the danger of human achievement in its ambiguous message. In the promise of the dream, we strive to exceed our previous best as we reach upward, literally to the stars, and ethically to knowledge and the pursuit of happiness. In the warnings of danger, any narrowly focused and linear goal can drift, especially when our moral compass fails, into the zealotry of “true belief,” and thence to an outright fanaticism that brooks no opposition.

As a naturalist by profession, and a humanist at heart, I have long believed that wisdom dictates an optimal strategy for proper steering towards the dream and away from the danger: as you reach upward, always festoon the structure of your instrument (whether conceptual or technological) with the rich quirks and contradictions, the foibles and tiny gleamings, of human and natural diversity—for abstract zealotry can never defeat a great dream anchored in the concrete of human warmth and laughter.

For all my conscious life, I have held one object close to my heart as both the abstract symbol and actual incarnation of this great duality: upward thrust tempered by frailty, diversity and contradiction. Let me then confess my enduring love affair with a skyscraper: the Woolworth Building, world’s tallest at 792 feet, from its opening in 1913 until its overtopping by the Chrysler Building (another favorite) in 1929. This gorgeous pinnacle on Lower Broadway—set between the Tweed Courthouse to the east (a low artifact of human rapacity) and, until the tragedy of September 11, the Twin Towers to the west (a high artifact of excelsior in all senses)— represents the acme in seamless and utterly harmonious blending of these two components that must unite to achieve the dream, but that seem so inherently unmixable.


click to enlarge
Woolworth Building from Beekman Street
The Woolworth Building
from Beekman Street, 1997

The Woolworth Building surely reaches high enough to embody the goals of excelsior. But its lavish embellishments only enhance the effect, giving warmth, breadth, and human scale to the height of transcendance. The outer cladding of glowing terra-cotta (not stone, as commonly believed) reflects the warmth of baked clay, not the colder gleam of metal. The overtly gothic styling of the lush exterior ornamentation marries an ecclesiastical ideal of past centuries with the verticality of modern life (thus engendering the building’s wonderfully contradictory moniker as “cathedral of commerce”). The glorious interior—with a million tiny jewels in a mosaic ceiling, its grand staircase, murals of labor and commerce, and elegantly decorated elevators—inspires jumbled and contradictory feelings of religious awe, technological marvel, and aesthetic beauty, sometimes sublime and sometimes bumptious. Meanwhile, and throughout, high grandeur merges with low comedy, as the glistening ceiling rests upon gargoyles of Mr. Woolworth counting the nickels and dimes that built his empire, and the architect Cass Gilbert, cradling in his arms the building that his image now helps to support.
When I was young, the Woolworth Building rose above all its neighbors, casting a warm terra-cotta gleam over lower Manhattan. But I have not seen this optimally tempered glory since the early 1970’s because the Twin Towers, rising in utter metallic verticality just to the southwest, either enveloped my love in shadow, or consigned its warmer glow to invisibility within a metallic glare.
There can be no possible bright side to the tragedy of September 11 and the biggest tomb of American lives on any single day since the Battle of Gettysburg nearly 150 years ago. But the fact of human endurance and human goodness stands taller than 100 Twin Towers stacked one atop the other. These facts need symbols for support, so that the dream of excelsior will not be extinguished in the perverse utilization of its downside by a few evil men.
I returned to my beloved natal city, following an involuntary week in Halifax (as one of 10,000 passengers in 43 diverted airplanes on September 11), on a glorious day of cloudless sky. I went with my family to ground zero to deliver supplies to rescue workers, and experienced the visceral shock (despite full intellectual foreknowledge and conscious anticipation) of any loyal New Yorker: my skyline has fractured; they are not there!
But then I looked eastward from the shores of the Hudson and saw the world’s most beautiful urban vista, restored for the worst possible reason, but resplendent nonetheless: the Woolworth Building, with its gracious setbacks, its gothic filigrees, and its terra cotta shine, standing bright, tall, and alone again, against the pure blue sky. We cannot be beaten if the spirit holds, and if we celebrate the continuity of a diverse, richly textured, ethically anchored past with the excelsior of a properly tempered reaching towards the stars.


click to enlarge
 A notefrom À l'Infinitif
Marcel Duchamp, a notefrom
Ă€ l’Infinitif
,1916/1967 [detail]

When Marcel Duchamp moved from Paris to New York as a young and cynical artist, he also dropped his intellectual guard and felt the allure of the world’s tallest building, then so new. And he decided to designate this largest structure as an artwork by proclamation: “find inscription for Woolworth Bldg. as readymade” he wrote to himself in January, 1916.

The Reverend S. Parkes Cadman, dedicating the Woolworth Building as a “cathedral of commerce” at its official opening on April 23, 1913 (when President Wilson flipped a switch in Washington and illuminated the structure with 80,000 lightbulbs), paraphrased the last line of Wordworth’s famous “Ode on the Intimations of Immortality” in stating that this great edifice evoked “feelings too deep even for tears.” But I found the words that Duchamp sought as I looked up at this human beauty restored against a sky-blue background on that bright afternoon of September 18. They belong to the poem’s first stanza, and they describe the architectural love of my life, standing so tall against all evil, for all the grandeur and all the foibles of human reality and transcendance—“appareled in celestial light, the glory and the freshness of a dream.”
Fig. A note from Ă€ l’Infinitif
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris. All rights reserved.

Duchamp Past and Present

Dear Reader,


click to enlarge
Marcel Duchamp, Tu m’
Figure 1
Marcel Duchamp, Tu m’, 1918
(The overall design of Tout-Fait is
based on the above, Duchamp’s last painting.)

For some reason, this issue is big on interviews. In our News-section, Robert Barnes, an acquaintance of Duchamp’s from the 1950s, talks about him for the first time, describing his own involvement with the production of Duchamp’s major work, Étant DonnĂ©s (1946-1966). In our Interviews-section, AndrĂ© Gervais unearths “Two Nuggets from the Spanish Days” while Thomas Hirschhorn, winner of the Prix Marcel Duchamp 2000, refers to Duchamp as the “most intelligent artist of his century.” Sarah Skinner Kilborne translated two recently published French interviews (from 1960 and 1965) into English and Columbia undergrad Lauren Wilcox spoke to Sanford Biggers – a participant in the upcoming Whitney Biennial – about his 1999 performance “Duchamp in the Congo (Suburban Invasion).”


click to enlarge
1 The Waterfall / 2.
The Illuminating Gas(outside view)1 The Waterfall / 2.
The Illuminating Gas(Inside view)
Figure 2 / Figure 3
Marcel Duchamp, Given: 1 The Waterfall / 2.
The Illuminating Gas
, 1946-1966 (outside view)
Marcel Duchamp, Given: 1 The Waterfall /
2. The Illuminating Gas
, 1946-1966
(inside view)

This, of course, is just the beginning. All in all, our readers may find about three dozen contributions of interest, including Bradley Bailey’s close look at Duchamp’s early drawing Encore Ă  cet Astre; Stephen Jay Gould’s Duchamp and September 11th; a facsimile edition of Matta’s and Katherine Dreier’s brief study of Duchamp’s Glass (1944); Glenn Harvey’s take on Duchamp and Saussure; and Rhonda Roland Shearer’s latest observations on the an-artist’s chess poster design of 1925.

During a discussion at a recent Duchamp symposium at the Hessisches Landesmuseum in Darmstadt, Germany, the question was raised whether Duchamp still mattered today and why it was that one should even bother to study both him and his works. Apart, of course, from Duchamp being crucial to Tout-Fait’s raison d’ĂŞtre, one cannot help but notice that the overall recognition and appreciation of him seems to be doing very well – and is, in fact thriving among young artists, art historians, critics and pop stars alike. Just a few examples:

In the Winter issue of Bookforum, Barry Schwabsky, reviewing the paperback edition of Arturo Schwarz’s Complete Works catalogue (New York: Delano Greenidge, 1999) is of the opinion that “Duchamp’s work is so deeply encoded in the fabric of contemporary art that I’m tempted to keep this book not with other art monographs, but on the ready-reference shelf next to Roget, Bartlett, and Merriam-Webster: Duchamp is to a great extent, our vocabulary.” (“Coffee Table: Barry Schwabsky and Andy Grundberg on Art and Photography,” Bookforum 8. 2 (Winter 2001), 42)

Bjork, the Icelandic Queen of Pop (and Matthew Barney’s new lover), did not fail to mention Duchamp in a recent interview evolving around Vespertine, her new album. Proclaiming him a genius, she is mostly in awe of Étant DonnĂ©s: “And then he created an artwork, when he was already very old, when everyone thought he’d already be over with, and this artwork changed completely the 20th century.” (Thomas Venter, “Der Look Passiert Nicht,” SĂĽddeutsche Zeitung, 27 August 2001 [my translation])

Reviewing last year’s Turner Prize – which, expectedly, went to a horrendously lame installation by Martin Creed Work No. 227: the light going on and off – Anna Somers Cocks, editor of the London-based The Art Newspaper, refers to Marcel Duchamp as “the patron saint” of most of the Young British Artists, scolding them, however, for not really heeding his advice. (“The Turner Prize: As Exciting as hearing old jokes retold,” in: The Art Newspaper, January 2002, 21)

Back in the States, the promising young video-artist Paul Pfeiffer – recent recipient of the prestigious Buxbaum award – described his appreciation of Duchamp thus: “Somewhere I read a statement by Duchamp to the effect that his art was intended as a destroyer, specifically of identity. I find that really inspiring. Putting a mustache on Mona Lisa makes a pretty basic point about the fluidity of identity and the depths to which gender, race and nationality are encoded into vision. I’m interested in multiple meanings and a kind of ambiguity that frustrates any attempt to pin it down.” (Linda Yablonsky, “Making Microart that can Suggest Macrotruths,” in: The New York Times, 9 December 2001, 39)

And here’s what’s new on the exhibition front: Beginning in March 2002, the Museum Tinguely in Basel will open its doors to the biggest Duchamp retrospective (curator: Harald Szeemann) since the 1993 Palazzo Grassi show in Venice, including a symposium organized by Basel University. And starting on February 6th, the Metropolitan Museum will be hosting Surrealism:Desire Unbound, a major show coming straight from London’s Tate Modern, while another exhaustive exhibition on the same movement is scheduled by the Centre George Pompidou, Paris, for later this year. Coinciding with the publication of this issue of Tout-Fait, the Williams College Museum of Art is launching But is it Real? – a show running from January 26 through September 22, 2002 – exploring notions of authenticity in modern art.

Finally, the upcoming 90th Annual Conference of the College Art Association in Philadelphia (February 20-23, 2002) will devote two sessions to Duchamp: The Studio Art Open Session (“Fluxus and Duchamp”) as well as the Art
History Open Session (“Ready-Mades: From Duchamp to Consumer Culture”).

Tout-Fait is a free and not-for-profit website and has been newly redesigned for our reader’s convenience by ASRL’s programming advisor Soojin Kim. With more than 100,000 visitors and a readership spanning the globe, with daily inquiries and questions coming in from university professors in Serbia, artists in Australia or public school teachers in South Africa, we’re happy to be of help wherever we can.

Enjoy browsing, stay a while and spread the word.

Thomas Girst
Editor-in-Chief

PS: Since September 11th, the Art Science Research Laboratory has been active working closely with WTC recovery workers at Ground Zero and Fresh Kills, establishing a warehouse and coordinating the shipment of much needed items on a daily basis. If you are in New York and would like to volunteer or otherwise support the cause, please visit our website at www.wtcgroundzerorelief.org.

Tout-Fait is published by the CyberArtSciencePress,
the publishing branch of the not-for-profit
Art Science Research Laboratory, Inc.,
62 Greene Street, Third Floor, New York, New York 10012

Tout-Fait welcomes any type of critical thinking. Multiple authorship is encouraged. All articles are first publications. All accepted foreign submissions will be published in both English and their original language. Tout-Fait (ISSN 1530-0323) is published by CyberArtSciencePress, the publishing house of the not-for-profit Art Science Research Laboratory.
We welcome donations!

©2002 Art Science Research Laboratory, Inc.

 

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

Two Nuggets From The Spanish Days


click to enlarge
Duchamp
Figure 1
Photograph of Duchamp
taken by
Katherine
Dreier, Buenos Aires, 1918
Duchamp in
his hammock
Figure 2
Man Ray, Photograph
of Duchamp in
his
hammock, date unknown

For Marcel Duchamp the Spanish way of life passed by his door first in Buenos Aires, Argentina, during a long sojourn there in 1918 -1919 (with his companion Yvonne Chastel)(Fig. 1) and then in CadaquĂ©s, Spain, during a vacation in 1933 (with his companion Mary Reynolds) and during annual visits from 1958 to 1968 (with his wife Alexina, known as “Teeny”).(Fig. 2)

Although there hasn’t been the equivalent for these years of what there is for Duchamp’s travels to the American West in 1936, 1949 and 1963,(1) or for the long time spent in Argentina by Polish writer Witold Gombrowicz,(2) several analyses of Duchamp’s finished and continued work during his Spanish days as well as several documents (correspondence, photographs, etc.) and relative accounts have been published.(3) A bibliography assembling these elements, however, has gone unaddressed.

But here, upfront, are two brief unpublished accounts of the 1960s from some lesser known (or even unknown) individuals to Duchampians.

I. Conversation without quotation marks with Grati Baroni.(4)

Grati Baroni and Jorge Piqueras, both born in 1925, had four young children when they met Teeny and Marcel Duchamp in 1960.

It was on account of Emilio Rodríguez-Larraín, a Peruvian painter, who was spending the summer in Llançà, near Cadaqués, with his friend Piqueras, a Peruvian painter of Spanish origin.

It was in August. Francesca, our last child (born June 10th), was a little
less than three months old.(5)

For eight years, until Marcel’s death, the Piqueras and the Duchamps saw one another in CadaquĂ©s, in Paris, and in Wissous, near Orly, (Wissous being where they lived from 1961 to 1966). They saw each other nearly every day in CadaquĂ©s (except July-August 1968, when Grati was in Rome on a family matter) and frequently when the Duchamps were in France, at their (the Duchamps’) house or sometimes at the Lebels’.

We kept an eye on the Duchamps’ car while they were in the United States and we were the ones who, with or without Jacqueline Matisse, Teeny’s daughter, would many times go and pick up the Duchamps in Orly when they arrived from New York.


click to enlarge
Faux-Vagin [false
Vagina]
Figure 3
Marcel Duchamp,
Faux-Vagin
[false
Vagina
], 1962-63
Faux-Vagin [false
Vagina]
Figure 4
Marcel Duchamp,
Faux-Vagin [
false Vagina
], 1962-63,
detail

And so it was that one day in 1962 or 1963–more probably 1963 than 1962 when I think back on it–the Faux-Vagin (Fig.3) was “made” on the way back from CadaquĂ©s,(6) around mealtime in Wissous, as a “joke,” without documentation or any title inscribed on the work.(7) Just a dedication and a signature: “pour Grati / affectueusement / Marcel” [for Grati / affectionately / Marcel]. (Fig. 4) And Teeny was saying, “Tiens, as un readymade!” [There, you have a readymade!]

You can’t imagine the “tricks,” the word plays that Marcel was already making with the Volkswagen. For example, “Teeny est partie avec sa Faux-Vagin.” [Teeny’s left with her False-Vagina.](8)

We accompanied him in the small villages around Cadaqués where he would play in important chess tournaments and where he would very often win.

This friendship was a comfortable friendship, nothing self-interested. In 1961, we were already on familiar terms with each other. In the following years, the friendship grew deeper still.

*****

Baroni is an Italian name. I was born in Florence: a Florentine can’t be naive, she can decide to be good, but she can never be naive! Grati is a name probably invented by my godfather, a nickname which was always used to address me and which became my real first name. And Grati Baroni de Piqueras (with a de), this was my married name. Since our separation, I’ve gone back to Grati Baroni, very simple.

I lived in Italy, in Peru (1952-1956), and then in France. I had a knowledge of art history but not a degree. I started painting when I was very young, fourteen years old, and painted until the 1950s and 60s. Then after a break I began to paint again.

Marcel, though terribly concerned with contemporary art, would speak with me about paintings from the Renaissance. Everything, in this sense, interested him. And he was very aroused by physical beauty. He loved us, I think, for the couple that we were, that we created: a symbiotic couple, “mythical.” We were very beautiful.

And I remember that he told me that one day when he was forty or forty-one, when he was in New York and very much in love, he was in front of a profound hole in the street that was being repaired; he was drunk and, upon seeing this hole, in one fell swoop he sobered up, for good!(9)

Marcel was tremendously helped by Arensberg, Dreier, etc.; did he want to help others in turn? He was very generous with Piqueras, for example, in introducing him to the Staempfli Gallery. George and Emily Staempfli had a house in CadaquĂ©s. I remember one evening in particular where the Dalis, the Duchamps and us, we were at the Staempfli’s house. Dali, that very same day if I’m not mistaken, had painted a small picture entitled Le twist, an allusion to a dance that was all the rage those months.(10)

On the other hand, I was never informed about Marcel’s plan for Piqueras regarding Noma and Bill Copley, a plan set for the first days of June 1964 and which never resulted in anything.


click to enlarge
Check
Figure 5
Check from Marcel
Duchamp to Grati
Piqueras,December 20,
1967, collection G.
Baroni, Paris

Marcel was very generous with his knowledge and his advice. Each Christmas, he sent a check to the children and he did this till he died. The last check, or what would become the last check, dated December 20, 1967, we have never touched. (Fig. 5)

I was in CadaquĂ©s the day when Marcel made what he would entitle Medallic Sculpture. This happened, if my memory serves me correctly, the same year that Man Ray came to CadaquĂ©s to see Marcel. In his Autoportrait, he speaks of this 1961 visit. The problem for Marcel was finding a way to “fill up” the bath [le bain-douche] in his small apartment: more of a “bath stopper” [Bouche-douche], in effect, than a “sink stopper” [Bouche-Ă©vier]. (Fig. 6) He first made a plaster model, then a metal one, and this remained a utilitarian object for several years, in fact, until he agreed to permit the International Collectors Society of New York to make it into an art object in 1967.

click images to enlarge

  • Recto
  • Verso
  • Figure 6 (recto)
    Marcel Duchamp, Bouche-Ă©vier
    [ Sink Stopper],
    1964, Collection Rhonda Roland Shearer
  • Figure 6 (verso)
    Marcel Duchamp, Bouche-Ă©vier
    [ Sink Stopper],
    1964, Collction Rhonda Roland Shearer

That year [1961], Man Ray and Marcel were making a telephone with empty tin cans and a cord, in order to speak to one another–like children–from their rented castles!

If I remember this right, it was in Paris in 1962 that we introduced Marcel to Gianfranco Baruchello, the Italian painter, who would later invite him to Italy several times.(11)Plus, Baruchello had known Arturo Schwarz who was already working on Duchamp.(12)
In Europe, the artistic activity of Duchamp, during this period in any case, was not so well-known.

And we introduced Baruchello to the art critic Alain Jouffroy, who had already been to our house in Wissous for a dinner with Marcel; Jouffroy wrote pieces on Baruchello and Piqueras.(13)


click to enlarge
Aimer
tes héros
Figure 7
Marcel Duchamp, Aimer
tes héros
[Love Your
Heros
], 1963

It was also in Paris, in 1962 I think, that we introduced Marcel to Bruno Alfieri, director of the review mETRO and godfather to our daughter Francesca. You know what happens next: the small drawing entitled M.É.T.R.O. (1963). (Fig. 7)

It was in Cadaqués in August 1962, through Marcel, that I met his sister Suzanne. I sympathized greatly with her. She told me a lot of stories about him, such as when they were children and adolescents, there was a complicity between them, an incredible communion: she would think of something and he would come up with it, and vice-versa. They were as one.

September 30, 1968, two days before his death: “You, I want to see you alone.” A message of enormous affection. We went to his apartment, in Neuilly, for dinner.

After his death, our closeness gradually blurred. The rupture between Jorge and me took place in 1969 and our separation, in 1973. It wasn’t until much later, through our son Lorenzo, that we replanted the seeds of our friendship with Teeny and Jacqueline who very much appreciated the exhibition, L’Ă©poque, la mode, la morale, la passion, on which Lorenzo worked as an architect.(14)

After the exhibition Paris-New York,(15)to which I lent a work by Suzanne Duchamp that I liked a lot, Étienne-Alain Hubert came to my house and “discovered” the targa (Faux-Vagin), a private, intimate “thing.” One never discovers a work of art in my house. It was exhibited for the first time in a museum in Japan, during August and September 1981, and reproduced for the first time, although in black and white, in the catalogue for this exhibition.

When I had to sell this readymade, and it distressed me to sell it to someone who didn’t love Marcel as we did, I contacted Bill Copley first, but he wasn’t interested. I also tried Jasper Johns, but he wasn’t interested either. And so it disappeared into the art market. Shame… I would give anything today to have it again.

*****

I knew a lot of artists (Fernand LĂ©ger, Constantin Brancusi, Henri Cartier-Bresson, etc.) but stayed voluntarily on the sidelines.

I have a total respect for the other: who he is (as a person), what he does (in his work).

I have nothing left–nothing kept, nothing hoarded–and I want nothing. I didn’t want to take what my Italian friends–Giacometti, Magnelli, Fontana–suggested I take… What then remains of our time together? Of my time with the Duchamps? Perhaps RodrĂ­guez-LarraĂ­n saved some documents like some letters or photos of our vacations.(16)

However, I regret not having kept a journal, even minimally, during that period.
True friends don’t make plans!

I have lived intensely in all of my relationships which were exceptional, meaningful and fulfilling. With my family, it’s the same thing: I have very few photos.

*****

Appendix

Postcard from Teeny (New York, October 31, 1965) to Grati: (Fig. 8)

click images to enlarge

  • Recto
  • Verso
  • Figure 8 (recto)
  • Figure 8 (verso)

Mme Jorge Piqueras
5 Rue Lamartine
Wissous S. et. O. [Seine-et-Oise]
France

Oct. 31st

Dear Grati –

I sent the ektachromes Air Mail today – Hope they arrive safely –

How is the little V.W.? Did they come and plombé it?(17)

We’re back to the old N.Y. routine – not much going on in the galleries – everyone is complaining, but the weather is beautiful like Paris before we left.

Hope you are all well. Bernard(18)
arrives tomorrow & we hope to have news of you all. We both send our love –

Teeny

II.

•Five Qestions for Emilio Rodríguez-Larraín (19)

What is the broad outline of your C.V.?

I was born in Lima in 1928. My first solo exhibition went up in 1950, my first group exhibition in 1951.

From the time I met Marcel Duchamp, I had (and would have) solo exhibitions in Milan (1959, 1960, 1961, and 1963), Cologne (1960), Frankfort (1960), Berlin (1960), New York (1962 and 1965, at the Staempfli Gallery; 1967, at the Rose Fried Gallery), Washington (1963), Brussels (1965), etc.

I received an award from the William and Noma Copley Foundation in 1965; Marcel Duchamp, Man Ray, Max Ernst, Roberto Matta and Walter Hopps, among others, were the judges.

How did you come to meet Marcel Duchamp? Where, when and how did that happen?

I knew Marcel Duchamp through Gordon Washburn, director of the Carnegie Institute of New York. He had come to Milan to invite me to an exhibition at the Carnegie Institute.(20)
We had become very close with him and his family. He asked me where we were going to spend our vacation, and they came to join us at Llançà, on the Costa Brava. There he realized we were close to Cadaqués, where Marcel Duchamp often went, as did Salvador Dali, Man Ray, and others.

We went there and he introduced me to all these great artists.

Where did you get in the habit of seeing each other?

With Marcel Duchamp, it was an instant friendship. He came to Llançà, we would go to Cadaqués, we would find ourselves in Paris, in Neuilly, in New York.

What was your rapport like with him and with Teeny?

Quotidian life with Marcel Duchamp and Teeny, which meant art, chess, language, walks, bulls, as much in Paris as in New York or on the Costa Brava.

What was Duchamp for you, ultimately?

A great friend, as much him as his wife, and an artist that I respected and continue to respect very much, finding him the most lucid man I’ve ever known, generous and courageous.

 

Adjoining Documents:

click to enlarge
Self-
Portrait
Figure 9
Marcel Duchamp, Self-
Portrait in Profile
, 1958


click to enlarge
Emilio RodrĂ­guez-LarraĂ­n
Emilio RodrĂ­guez-LarraĂ­n
Figure 10
Emilio RodrĂ­guez-LarraĂ­n, 1965
Figure 11
Emilio RodrĂ­guez-LarraĂ­n, 1965

• A dedication of Robert Lebel’s book Sur Marcel Duchamp (1959), to M. and Mme Piqueras, most likely from 1960. (Coll. G. Baroni, Paris.)(Fig. 9)

• Two photos of Emilio Rodríguez-Larraín at the opening of Not Seen and/or Less Seen of/by Marcel Duchamp/Rrose Sélavy, 1904-1964, New York, Cordier & Ekstrom, January 13, 1965. To his right in one of the photos: George Staempfli; behind his right elbow in the other photo: Marcel Duchamp! (Coll. E. Rodríguez-Larraín, Lima.)(Figs. 10 & 11)

• Postcard from Teeny Duchamp to Mme Jorge Piqueras, October 31, 1965. (Coll.G. Baroni, Paris.)

• Check from Marcel Duchamp to Grati Piqueras, December 20, 1967. (Coll.G. Baroni, Paris.)

• Two photos of a wall at the bar Meliton, CadaquĂ©s. (Coll. AndrĂ© Valois, MontrĂ©al, 1994.) Around a plaque which reads “AQUI JUGAVA ALS / ESCACS L’INOBLIDABLE / MARCEL DUCHAMP” [“Here used to play / chess the unforgettable / Marcel Duchamp”], some artifacts recall the presence of the man: two photographs, a letter (regarding a meeting at the cafĂ©), the reproduction of a picture by Jacques Villon representing Duchamp in about 1951, and a mirror on which the name of the bar has been broken down (“me / mel / elit / lito / liton,” etc.) between the words “ciel” [sky] and “champ” [field].(21) (Figs.12 & 13)

click images to enlarge

  • The wall at the
bar Meliton
  • The wall at the
bar Meliton
  • Figure 12
    The wall at the
    bar Meliton, Cadaqués
  • Figure 13
    The wall at the
    bar Meliton, Cadaqués

Notes

 

Footnote Return 1. Bonnie Clearwater, ed. West Coast Duchamp (Miami Beach: Grassfield Press, 1991).

Footnote Return 2. See Rita Gombrowicz’s Gombrowicz en Argentine. TĂ©moignages et documents, 1939-1963 (Paris:
Denoël, 1984).

Footnote Return 3. Examples of work made during these sojourns: To Be Looked at (from the Other Side of the Glass) with one Eye, Close to, for Almost an Hour (1918), Unhappy Readymade (1919), With My Tongue in My Cheek (1959), Still Torture (1959), Still Sculpture (1959).

Footnote Return 4. Compiled from notes taken while on the telephone with Grati Baroni (July 19, 1998), and then during a long conversation with her at her home (June 4, 1999). She afterward reviewed the notes (June 29, 1999) and they were consequently lightly expanded (July 20, 1999).

Footnote Return 5. In 1960, the Duchamps were in Cadaqués from July 1st to September 1st.

Footnote Return 6. Between September 19 and October 1, 1963, and, therefore, some days before Signed Sign(Pasadena, October 7, 1963).

Footnote Return 7. The spelling of the title comes from a letter Duchamp wrote (in French) to Arne Ekstrom (CadaquĂ©s, September 3, 1966), even though he was talking about his car. “We will return to Neu-Neu September 21st by Volkswagen (Faux-Vagin), and to New York October 15th by plane.” Neu-Neu, short forNeuilly, is a suburb west of Paris.

Footnote Return 8. Regarding the VW, see also the 1965 postcard from Teeny to Grati, reproduced here in the appendix.

Footnote Return 9. This actually took place when he was thirty-nine: from October 20, 1926 to February 26, 1927 he was in the United States to put together two Brancusi exhibitions, one at the Joseph Brummer Gallery in New York November 17 – December 15, 1926) and the other at the Arts Club of Chicago (January 4 – 22, 1927). The woman could well be Alice Roullier of the Arts Club.


click to enlarge

Figure 9
Salvardo Dali, Twist
dans l’atelier de
VĂ©lasquez
, 1962

Footnote Return 10. In all likelihood, it was 1962 when the first version appeared of Twist dans l’atelier de VĂ©lasquez, oil on canvas (but was it that very work?). As for the hit songs, they were essentially from 1961 and 1962: The Twist and Let’s Twist Again (sung by Chubby Checker), Twist and Shout (by the Isley Brothers), and Twistin’ the Night Away(by Sam Cooke).

Footnote Return 11. See Marcel Duchamp in 20 Photographs by Gianfranco Baruchello, foreword by Piero Berengo Gardin (Rome: Edizioni Gregory Fotografia, 1978); photos taken between 1962 and 1966 in Italy (in Rome, Bomarzo,
Cerveteri and Umbria), in Spain (in Cadaqués) and in the United States (in the Philadelphia Museum of Art).

Footnote Return 12. Arturo Schwarz began to work on Duchamp’s Ĺ“uvre in 1957.

Footnote Return 13. Alain Jouffroy: “Piqueras chez Eiffel,” in XXe siècle, the new series, no. 48 (Paris, June 1977) and “Baruchello, navigateur en solitaire,” no. 50 (June 1978).

Footnote Return 14. Bernard Blistène with Catherine David and Alfred Pacquement, eds. L’Ă©poque, la mode, la morale,la passion. Aspects de l’art aujourd’hui, 1977-1987 (Centre d’art et de culture Georges Pompidou,
MusĂ©e national d’art moderne, May 21 – August 17, 1987). Katia Lafitte and Lorenzo Piqueras, assisted by Diane Chollet, did the scenography for this exhibition. See, moreover, “Qualifier l’espace. Entretien avec Lorenzo Piqueras,” by Roselyne Marsaud Perrodin, in Pratiques, no. 2 (Rennes, Autumn 1986): 117-139.

Footnote Return 15. Centre Georges Pompidou, June 1 – September 19, 1977. This exhibition took place immediately after the Duchamp exhibition (Marcel Duchamp, January 31 – May 2, 1977), which was the Pompidou’s inaugural exhibition.

Footnote Return 16. The latter wrote me from Lima (August 24, 2000): “All of the photos and all of the documents that I had concerning my relationship with Marcel Duchamp (which included a L.H.O.O.Q. Shaved, an invitation to a private preview at Cordier & Ekstrom) were stolen in Miami when I was living there some years ago.”

Footnote Return 17. Jacqueline Matisse, in two faxes (April 27, 2001), puts it into context: “Marcel and Teeny’s VW bug was parked unused at the Piqueras’ in Wissous over the winter. In order to pay less tax on the car, the customs authorities required a lead seal on the vehicle when not in use. That is what Teeny is inquiring about in her card. […] Teeny used her best “franglais”…when talking about this car […].”

Footnote Return 18. Bernard Monnier, husband of Jacqueline Matisse.

Footnote Return 19. Lima, August 24, 2000, in response to written questions sent by André
Gervais July 21st.

Footnote Return 20. The Pittsburgh Triennial would be held at the Carnegie Institute in
1961.

Footnote Return 21. Regarding this Mecca of CadaquĂ©s, see Henri-François Rey’s Le cafĂ© Meliton (Paris: Balland, 1987).

Figs. 3, 4, 6-8
©2002 Succession Marcel Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris.
All rights reserved.

Duchamp is Global: From Philadelphia to Jerusalem

Dear Reader,


click to enlarge
Marcel Duchamp, Tu m’
Marcel Duchamp, Tu m’, 1918 / ©
2000 Succession Marcel Duchamp,
ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris.
(The overall design of
Tout-Fait
Volume 1 is based
on the above, Duchamp’s last painting.)

We are happy to present to you Tout-Fait #3, concluding the first volume of this journal. With more than forty contributors and an enthused team of roughly a dozen in-house devotees, this is the fattest issue ever.

And this is what Tout-Fait is all about:

Eighteen-year old Kim Whinna interviews surrealist artist Enrico Donati while Arthur C. Danto’s “Marcel Duchamp and the End of Taste: A Defense of Contemporary Art” responds to a recent lecture on the topic by Jean Clair, whose first chapter of his recent book on Duchamp we can offer you exclusively in its premier English translation. Tout-Fait strives to be a journal accessible to both younger people and students as well as important scholars and art historians.

Once again, we have added a few new squares: Since the Philadelphia Museum of Modern Art, the Tate Modern, the Israel Museum and the Centre Georges Pompidou have all recently (re)arranged their Duchamp collections, we thought it time to create our own “Collection”-section. In this issue we start off with Tamar Minor-Friedman, the exhibition curator of the Israel Museum’s collection of Dada and Surrealist Art, guiding us through Jerusalem’s Duchamp rooms. Here, we also present online facsimile editions of three early and very rare Dada journals. The “Bookstore”-square links to recent publications of our contributors and our “Giftshop” encourages you to purchase items benefiting our not-for-profit journal. For your convenience, we have also added a contents-link on the homepage so you may see at a glance what to expect inside.

As always, all contributions are first publications. Articles have been translated from Danish, French and German and may also be read in their original language. So please indulge when Stephen Jay Gould and Rhonda Roland Shearer examine Niceron’s influence upon Duchamp and Leif Erikkson presents a comprehensive view of Duchamp’s impact on Sweden between 1933 and 1970. And there’s more: Mark Pohlad looks at Duchamp as conservator while Bailey Bradley wonders about the similarities of pawns and bachelors. Listen to a composition inspired by Duchamp’s Nude Descending and find out whether he chose Emmentaler cheese or Gruyère for the design of a Surrealist exhibition cover in 1942. To top things off, there’s plenty within the squares of “Multimedia,” “Letters,” and “Art & Literature,” more research on the Ready-mades and manifold “Notes” by the likes of Thomas Zaunschirm and AndrĂ© Gervais.

Starting next year, Tout-Fait is also headed for a bit of good old-fashioned print media. A monthly page in NYArts Magazine will provide this journal’s readers with a Duchamp “news ticker,” and the Art Science Research Laboratory will work on a “Best of Tout-Fait Volume One” publication, comprising the most interesting and debate-stirring contributions of our first three issues.

It’ll all keep going: over 30,000 hits for Tout-Fait this year and counting. Needless to say, our gratitude continues to go out to Jacqueline Matisse-Monnier for her support of this not-for-profit endeavor.

Enjoy browsing, stay a while and spread the word.

Thomas Girst
Editor-in-Chief

Tout-Fait is published by the CyberArtSciencePress,
the publishing branch of the not-for-profit
Art Science Research Laboratory, Inc.,
62 Greene Street, Third Floor, New York, New York 10012

Tout-Fait welcomes any type
of critical thinking. Multiple authorship is encouraged. All articles
are first publications. All accepted foreign submissions will
be published in both English and their original language. Tout-Fait (ISSN 1530-0323) is
published by CyberArtSciencePress
, the publishing house of the not-for-profit
Art Science Research Laboratory
.
We welcome donations!

 

©2000 Art Science Research Laboratory, Inc.

Orchestrating the Nude Descending

Henri René
(29 December 1906, New York City – 25 April 1993, Houston, Texas)

Born in New York City and growing up in Germany, conductor and arranger Henri René received a thorough education in classical music at the Royal Academy of Music in Berlin. He moved to the U.S. during the mid-1920s, appearing with a variety of orchestras before returning to Berlin, he is appointed musical director of Electrola, a recording company, and UFA, the German movie studio at Babelsberg.

In 1936, he emigrates to the U.S. and is appointed musical director for RCA International; in 1941, he establishes a Continental-style orchestra. After serving with the allied forces in World War II, he returns to RCA as a musical director to arrange and conduct a variety of classical recordings. René retired from RCA in 1959 and worked as an independent for the remainder of his career.

Passion in Paint
(Famous Paintings Set to Music)
Henri René and His Orchestra


click to enlarge
Nude Descending
a Staircase
Marcel Duchamp,
Nude Descending
a Staircase, No. 2
, January 1912
© 2000 Succession Marcel
Duchamp, ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris

“Passion in paint, passion in music…how differently they are expressed, and yet how closely akin are they! Music has color and paintings have rhythm, and both convey to us beauty and emotion.

Here, as far as I know, is the first attempt to link popular paintings with what is usually called “popular” music. I am not sure I know precisely what popular music is: I am certain that these original rhapsodies by Henri RenĂ© are music which everybody can enjoy, which everybody can understand and from which everybody can experience an emotional lift.

Henri RenĂ© has, of course, not attempted any literal description of the paintings. That would be impossible in music. Ha has given us impressions. These very sensuous mood of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus to the famous and still controversial Duchamp Nude Descending the Stairs, a painting which no longer “describes” or”tells a story” but is all impression and emotion. What you have here, therefore, is a mood music album with many moods.

Many of the paintings treated musically by RenĂ© are familiar favorites. Several of them can be seen in our country. To see others you will have to travel as far as Florence, Madrid and Paris. To enjoy RenĂ©’s music you don’t have to travel at all: you can “see” the paintings from your armchair.

This latest work of Henri René follows a series of highly successful albums composed, arranged and conducted by him in his own individual style. That style is Continental, which is quite natural considering that René has spent much of his life abroad. Among the albums which have become best sellers are Listen to Henri René and Music for Romance…

Here, then, is passion in paint translated into passion in music. Whatever you play the album one “painting” at a time or whatever you play the whole album together I think you are in for a new kind of enjoyment.”

 

George R. Marek
Director of Artists and Repertoire
Copyright 1955, Radio Corporation of America

Click for the Music

“Nude
Descending [the] Stairs” from the suite “Passion in Paint” by Henri
René

Henri René and His Orchestra
“Passion in Paint: Famous Paintings Set to Music” (1955)
Recorded by RCA Victor LPM-1033
Music inspired by famous paintings throughout the centuries include:


click to enlarge

Album Cover, RCA Victor

Album Cover, RCA Victor, 1955

Side 1
Marcel Duchamp-Nude Descending the Stairs
Pierre Auguste Renoir-Gabrielle in an Open Blouse Sandro Botticelli-The Birth of Venus
Francisco Goya-The Nude Maya
Pablo Picasso-Girl Before Mirror
Henri Toulouse-Lautrec-At the Moulin Rouge

Side 2
Leonardo da Vinci-Mona Lisa
Edgar Degas-L’Absinthe
Amedeo Modigliani-Nude on Cushion
John Singer Sargent-Madame X
Edouard Manet-Olympia
Salvador DalĂ­-The Persistence of Time

(We are grateful to Veit Schuetz of Cosmic Art Enterprises for transferring the music from record to tape)

Watching the Detectives


  • Illustration 4
    Photograph showing a
    lady veiled in the antique lace
    span>

  • Photograph of Marcel
    Duchamp by Hans
    Hoffmann, Munich, 1912

“L’oeuvre d’art est toujours basĂ©e sur ces deux poteaux du gĂ©nĂ©rateur et du spectateur, et
l’Ă©tincelle qui vient de cette action bipolaire donne naissance Ă  quelque chose comme l’Ă©lectricitĂ©.”

Bill Tanch