Tag: Duchamp‚ Marcel

  • “The Unphotographable—Notes on Photography and Dust” Art On Paper. ed. Gabriella Fanning and Faye Hirsch. New York: Fanning Publishing Company Inc., 2002, pp. 58-63

    The Unphotographable

    Notes on photography and dust

    A pair of small hands motion in front of elevator doors, the hands both reflected and abstracted by the brushed aluminum surface. There are seven such black-and-white photographs, each mounted on a sheet of brushed aluminum, in Incantation, a series by Jennifer Bolande. Why are they so troubling? True, it’s a strange conceit, using incantatory gestures to open electronic doors, (The artist says she was looking to find a new form of “interface” with an everyday object.) Perhaps what’s unsettling is the reference to touch. The quintessential expression of postmodernism, photographs are not typically considered tactile objects. And yet here the hand is doubly implicated. The artist’s hands dissolve into the metal in the picture, enticing us to touch the metal of the frame, which has the mirror coolness of what one imagines photography to be. It’s a surface that, once touched, would be physically spoiled, like a photograph is by a fingerprint.

    Equally troubling is Gerhard Richter’s 128 Fotos von einem Bild (Halifax, 1978), from 1998. This portfolio of eight offset lithographs reproduces in black and white the 128 photographs Richter made of a colorful abstract painting for his Pictures exhibition held in Halifax in 1978. (The original set of photographs are in the Kaiser Wilhelını Museum, Krefeld, which published the recent prints. A sub-generation is the artist’s book 128 details from a picture, Halifax 1978, published by the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design in 1980.) This endless endgame of painting and reproduction has, since 1962, been a familiar strategy for Richter, who once reflected, “Suddenly, I noticed that the copying of photographs had more to do with painting than everything I had ever painted before …”[footnote=1] Indeed, just like the latest discovery scientists are bound to make of yet another infinitely tiny particle of matter and material measure, there’s something reassuring about this artist’s ability to parse another layer of imagery out of his own art. Our systems of representation continue to function and find interesting things to do.

    What is disturbing about 128 Fotos is the view it offers, or fails to offer. “The photographs were taken from various sides, from various angles, various distances and under different light conditions,” Richter has said.[footnote=2] Consequently, each frame in this Atlas-like grid reads as a picture in its own right; some resemble landscapes; others, weirdly blurred by the camera’s focus, make abstractions of abstraction. Still others appear as straightforward documents for a painting conservator: mug shots of brushstrokes. Throughout, there is a sense of mapping, of gathering and plotting information. Upon pulling back, the overall impression is of a terrain, but one that in no way resembles the original. This terrain has been deconstructed into a panorama of particles-particles of photography attempting to coalesce into painting. At this point, Richter’s work comes full circle. His abstract paintings always appear loaded and wet with the potential of the photographic image—they both look and feel like emulsion assaulted by a squeegee during the darkroom act of development.

    To write of particles is to speak of dust, or in this case, Dust Breeding (Elevage de poussière), which Richter’s 128 Fotos visually and conceptually resembles. For this collaborative work of 1920, Man Ray photographed Marcel Duchamp’s Large Glass covered by several months’ accumulation of dust. Like Richter’s various views of his painting, Elevage de poussière shows a painting rendered invisible and pitched into relief by the particular. It also brings to mind Duchamp’s response to the question of photography. “Dear Stieglitz,” he wrote in a letter to America’s champion of the question, “Can a photograph have the significance of Art?” that was published in a 1922 issue of Manuscripts, which Stieglitz edited:

    Even a few words I don’t feel like writing. You know exactly what I think about photography. I would like to see it make people despise painting until something else would make photography unbearable.

    Affectuesement,

    Marcel Duchamp

    (Painter, Chess Expert, French Teacher, and Type Expert)

    Seen together, Bolande and Richter’s practices come close to fulfilling Duchamp’s wish. Photography, while perhaps not made unbearable by painting, can no longer be simply itself. Richter cannot make a painting without referring to photography (and vice versa).

    Photography, meanwhile, has taken on board the attributes of painting and, as encountered in Bolande’s work, sculpture: photography now has their surface, texture, abstraction, scale. Without the gigantic dimensions of French history painting, it would be impossible to explain Andreas Gursky’s recent exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art. Indeed, his photographic images, digitized into patterns that reproduce “reality” as museum wallpaper, make traditional photography an unbearable constraint. And yet, photography continues to be everywhere. Witness Camera Works: The Photographic Impulse in Contemporary Art, held at Marianne Boesky Gallery in New York last summer. This show was packed from floor to ceiling with photographs by artişts ranging from Jessica Stockholder to Yoshitomo Nara.[footnote=3]

    At the same time, every medium is more than just a form of picture-making it has a specific set of identities, histories, physical characteristics, processes—in short, a culture. In this respect, the culture of photography has never been more pervasive. It is, among other things, the subject of The Photogenic: Photography through its Metaphors in Contemporary Art, a group exhibition that I curated at Philadelphia’s Institute for Contemporary Art, University of Pennsylvania (through April 28)[footnote=4]. Comprising painting, sculpture, installation, drawing, sound, prints, and, yes, photographs, the works I selected for this exhibition all point to photography, which is made all the more present by the medium’s relative absence in the show. For example, sound artist Stephen Vitiello is creating a new site-specific work using a photocell—the device photographers use to test light—hooked up to a microphone. A computer translates the light vibrations into sound. He discovered this technique during a 1999 residency at the World Trade Center.[footnote=5] From the communal 91st- floor studio space, with its 360-degree views, what struck Vitiello was the 24hour symphony of lights: the natural light of the sun and the moon, rising and setting, subdued or amplified by weather, disappearing behind clouds; all the variations on artificial light from cars, apartments, the streets, architecture. He has made several light albums, including Bright and Dusty Things, which gets its “dirty” quality from the battery coming loose from the cell during recording.

    As seen, or heard, in the context of The Photogenic, Vitiello’s work presents a sonic version of photography’s earliest metaphors—light writing and photogenic drawing. Since the medium was first announced in 1839, photography and light have been deemed inseparable properties. Other characteristic metaphors for the photograph are proof, pencil of nature, index, the blind spot. All make appearances in the show. And while the exhibition seeks to use these metaphors in order to chart the expansion of photography’s culture into other mediums, here I would like to take an opposite if parallel approach, considering some of the photographic works in the ICA exhibition precisely in order to observe what it is about them that is not photography. In the case of Jennifer Bolande’s Incantations, what is not photography is haptic, and comes from the performative element that underlies all of her work. With Richter’s 128 Fotos, it’s the particularity of paint that gives his photography its substance (and vice versa). Brought into the picture from outside of the culture of photography, these qualities point to something that has permeated contemporary photography as much as photography has infiltrated contemporary art—a something I want to call the unphotographable. The unphotographable, too, is permeable and changes according to the artist who takes it on. The unphotographable is the pointer within the picture that beats a path out of photography at a moment when distinctions between all mediums have clearly collapsed.

    Let’s return to the dust. The place where it accumulates may be dirty, but is also rich with signs of the unphotographable.[footnote=6] Last May, the Whitney Museum of American Art presented The Things Themselves: Pictures of Dust, an exhibition by Vik Muniz based on a site-specific project he created in response to an invitation from the museum’s photography curator, Sylvia Wolf. Ever since reproducing icons of photography in chocolate sauce, Muniz has been known for his ambivalence toward a medium (photography, not candy) that is matched only by his intelligence when it comes to making pictures that dismantle (and maintain) photography’s illusions. For the Whitney project, he selected a group of historic installation photographs of Minimalist and Post-minimalist art from the museum archives. He reproduced these images as drawings using dust collected from the museum, which complied with his request for spent vacuum cleaner bags. Muniz then photographed and destroyed the drawings.

    As exhibited at the museum, the prints were enlarged to a scale that shows each more to be a piece of fuzzy or hairy filth. In these images, which photorealistically depict works by Donald Judd, Barry Le Va, and Robert Ryman, among others, Muniz has a field day with, among other things, the artist’s intervention as archaeology; the purity of Minimalism and the messiness of what followed; the sanitary sanctuary of the museum as institution and repository. But these are mere riffs compared to Muniz’s challenge to the mantra of modern photography, “the thing itself,” as coined by Edward Weston, who charged photography with no more or less of a mission than to record “the very substance and quintessence of the thing itself.” Ricocheting non-stop between drawing and photography, reality and reproduction, dust and emulsion, Muniz’s pictures ultimately render unphotographable “the thing itself.”

    Man Ray and Duchamp conducted their collaboration in the studio, a place where ideas and materials accumulate into art and debris. Combining their efforts, Katurah Hutcheson is at once a photographer and a painter. Marked by blobs and stains, her monochromatic works read as abstractions, but they are actually representations of “the thing itself,” in this case her studio production. Hutcheson uses her studio as a camera to capture images of shadow and light. Its windows are the apertures whereby light enters, filtering through acetate sheets upon which random drips of paint have accumulated. These silhouettes are then recorded either photographically or on canvas. The paintings are “multiple exposures,” developed layer by layer, always with found materials: recycled and repaired canvases, cast-off cans and tubes of paint, and building over time a solid identity in painterly abstraction. As opposed to these images of duration, the related photographs are fleeting, with the unphotographable a constant by-product of Hutcheson’s weird, hybrid process. What’s more, there’s something sordid about it all—the corporeality of her paintings, the fluidity of the photographs—that speaks to the Duchampian moment when both mediums might suffer some collapse.

    Debris is the subject of a suite of four photographs by sculptor Rachel Whiteread entitled Furniture (1992–98). These are basically tourist snapshots of garbage day. Taken internationally, they show the sad street life of household objects. A mattress slumps against a car in Athens; another stands next to a wardrobe against a fence in London. The world grows that much smaller, more homogenized, bridged by the common wasteland of consumer culture. Cast onto curbsides on moving or garbage day, these objects, in Whiteread’s eyes, are both poignant and awful in their exposure to public view, surrogates, of sorts, of homeless men and women. But of course what one really sees in them are studies for Whiteread’s sculptures. Cast from just such household objects, these too are images of aggressive vulnerability, intimate memorials of contemporary life. I have often wondered what makes these somewhat abject works so effective, and what distinguishes them from the early works of Bruce Nauman, invariably cited in writing on Whiteread as a predecessor who cast the undersides of shelves and chairs in the 1960s. Her photographs answer the question, because they have made me understand the specific relationship that exists in her work between the positive and the negative: Whiteread’s art embodies a desire to be the thing that is not there.

    A similar line of questioning is raised by the work of Stephan Balkenhol, whose figurative sculptures carved from wood might seem more folkloric than contemporary. However, the artist’s recent foray into photography suggests ways in which all of his works are essentially postmodern snapshots in wood. Mounted on a large panel of pływood is a screenprinted photograph showing in enlarged detail the eye of one of Balkenhol’s sculptural figures. One can see clearly that the technique behind Balkenhol’s carving has nothing to do with carefully rendering an image. The close-up shows that his chisel moved quickly, chipping out details with the same rough strokes that shaped the entire form. Thinking of these strokes, one recognizes an echo of Roland Barthes’ recollection that “at first photographic implements were related to techniques of cabinetmaking and the machinery of precision: cameras, in short, were clocks for seeing, and perhaps in me someone very old still hears in the photographic mechanism the living sound of wood.”[footnote=7] Thus Balkenhol’s photograph is more than a reproduction of his work. It is an image of something quite immaterial, quite unphotographable: the mechanical precision that underlies both his sculpture and photography.

    Perhaps the most compelling sign of collapse between photography and sculpture occurs in a recent body of work by the conceptual artist Karin Sander. Exhibited last spring in New York at D’Amelio Terras was a gallery of miniature plastic men and women, each elevated to eye level by a tall white pedestal. Posed casually and dressed in professional attire, these figures were depicted with such veracity that they appeared plucked out of a photograph of people networking at an exhibition opening. Indeed, as the titles revealed, many of those represented were members of the art world. There was a diminutive David Ross, now-former director of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; a lilliputian Olivier Renaud-Clement, photography dealer; a peewee Werner Meyer, the curator whose invitation to participate in an exhibition of Kleinplastik (small sculpture) launched this body of work; and a “mini-me,” Karin Sander herself.[footnote=8] The series they are part of is called 1:10, which refers to their shift in scale—these sculptures are exactly one-tenth the size of their subjects—which Sander achieved with digital photography. Deploying a technology familiar to the fashion industry, a battery of cameras bounces light off a living person to produce a three-dimensional body scan. The measurements are then fed into a machine that translates them into crosssections, which are output as layer upon layer of sprayed plastic. The resulting sculpture is, in fact, a photograph. Several of these works recently entered the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art—notably, by way of the department of photography.

    Harking back to Duchamp’s prediction, one wonders if the digital might be the “something else [that] would make photography unbearable.” This discussion certainly finds photography straining its bounds, falling in with other mediums and even returning to its experimental infancy. Just briefly note two of the artists in The Photogenic: Sheila Pepe, who has developed a drawing practice based on Surrealist automatism and photograms; and photogrammatician Adam Fuss, who has been using that most precise of techniques, the daguerreotype, to make images that are perversely blurry. It’s as if the presence of a new technology, and all the anxieties attending it, have shaken up the old one. In response, photography kicks up its heels and succumbs to collapse. It affirms its own historic identity (modern, experiential). And it (blindly) points the way toward the virtual by showing us that some things are simply unphotographable.

    The author would like to thank Dr. Geoffrey Batchen, whose writings on photography (most recently Each Wild Idea: Writing Photography History, Cambridge, 2001) and whose reading of a draft of this essay have been greatly informative.

  • “A Chocolate Art History.” Chocolate!, ed. Carin Kuoni. New York: Swiss Institute, 1995, pp. 21–42.

    A Chocolate Art History

    When Man Ray visited the town of Rouen, he little expected to encounter the object of Marcel Duchamp’s boyhood affection:

    …You never told me about the Broyeuse de Chocolat. I had to find out for myself. It was a pleasure, a much greater pleasure to find out by myself. Would it be an indiscretion on my part to relate that, walking down the streets of Rouen with my back to the lopsided steeples of the cathedral, I was overcome by a most delicious odor of chocolate which grew stronger as I advanced? And then, there they were, in a window, those beautifully polished steel drums churning around in the soft brown yielding mass of exquisite aroma? Later when questioned, you admitted your pure school-boy love. Ton amour-propre. I translate freely[footnote=1]

    The two artists had collaborated extensively in New York and Paris, perhaps most famously on Elevage de poussières (Dust Breeding) (1920), Man Ray’s photographic documentation of the accumulation of air-born particles on Duchamp’s painting on glass La Mariée mise à nu par ses célibataires, meme (The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even) (1915-23). Also called The Large Glass, it was a summary of Duchamp’s esoteric imagery and highly influential ideas, illuminating his concept of the “fourth dimension,” where industrious lovemaking took place between pieces of erotic machinery. The male organ in this futuristic affair was a gelded chocolate grinder, stripped of its mechanism down to an impressive but inoperative drum. “The bachelor,” Duchamp wrote, “grinds his chocolate himself.”[footnote=2]

    Much has been made of the iconography of this machine within Duchamp’s art. But what of the confection itself? Typical of the titillating, teasing nature of his art, Duchamp’s grinder stands empty of its essential ingredient.[footnote=3] Even so, Man Ray recognized its source in Rouen, following his nose through the streets, stumbling upon the chocolate-laden mechanism as if upon a missing body—still vital, fragrant, and warm.

    With chocolate as both subject and object, the works in this exhibition take up from Man Ray’s encounter with Duchamp’s inspiration. Chocolate! concerns both the sacred and profane, the industrial and the erotic, purely physiological sensations and more intimate memories of things past: in short all of chocolate’s rich appeals and intense associations.

    Chocolate makes its first significant appearance as an art material during the 1960s, when artists took conceptual cues from Duchamp, Dada, and Surrealism, and began making art from the incidents, objects, and materials of everyday life. Among the first to include chocolate in this embrace were members of the Fluxus movement. Food—the collaborative dynamics of which obscures the issue of authorship—seemed to naturally lend itself to the Fluxus concept of art as an exchange of energies. One of the movement’s authors, George Brecht, defined Fluxus as a collective unrest with conventional modes of art-making, shared by artists who “have discovered each other’s work and found it nourishing (or something) and have grown objects and events which are original, and often uncategorizable, in a strange new way.”[footnote=4]

    A communicative property, Fluxus art traveled the world primarily via the post. Alluding to, among other things, Joseph Beuys’ sealed plastic envelope containing chocolate and margarine entitled Künstlerpost (1969), one critic writes:

    …strange paste-ups bordering on the forbidden flew across the Atlantic, boxes that rattled and wheezed were delivered by bewildered mailmen, lumpy packages were often “lost,” others were opened and resealed by clerks who surely couldn’t grasp the meaning of a monogrammed chocolate bar.[footnote=5]

    As early as 1961, Swiss Fluxus artist Daniel Spoerri was stamping food items “Art Work” and selling them at supermarket prices at Galerie Köpcke in Copenhagen. For Spoerri, food represented one of two essential urges, the other being sex, which he wanted to make manifest through art. He experienced cooking as symbolic of the universal life cycle and developed his work accordingly.[footnote=6] Spoerri prepared elaborate menus for his meals and monuments to their consumption with conceptual sculptures that consisted of each dinner’s plates, utensils, and left-over food affixed to panels of the sawed-off table top. He designated these sculptural tableaux-pièges occur at the end of the meal, when dinner is at its most decrepit stage and the culinary life cycle that began with the chef’s creative coupling of raw ingredients has run its course.

    In 1968, having already hosted a number of such dinners throughout Europe, Daniel Spoerri realized a plan (first outlined in a letter of 1957) to open a restaurant.[footnote=7] Restaurant Spoerri was located below the gallery the artist ran in Dusseldorf, called Eat Art. Together, the two spaces served as a locus for Fluxus and Nouveau Realisme (a European brand of Pop Art) for activities involving food. The program included invitational exhibitions, installations, meals, and multiples. For example, Spoerri consigned Jasper Johns, Lucio Fontana, and Frank Stella, among others, to design cakes for a 1970 Eat-Art-Banquet prepared by professional chefs. Sometimes chocolate was featured in the program, as when Bernhard Luginbühl, Jean Tinguely’s Swiss colleague, created Schoggiflügelmutterfigur, an edition of chocolate propellers, in 1970.

    Spoerri himself confected the original “Schokoladenscheissdreckröllchen” in 1969-70; the chocolate cake is reinterpreted in this exhibition according to the artist’s instructions, which include a dedication to Piero Manzoni. In a food-driven paradigm of creativity, excrement naturally plays a role. For an unrealized film scenario, Spoerri proposed:

    …begin with a close-up of a pile of freshly shat shit, then show its return, in reverse motion, into the body and through the intestines (X-rays) and then stomach, on through the reconstruction of the chewed food, as it leaves the mouth, into a steak which is returned to the butcher, who replaces it on the beef, which, revived, ends the film grazing in a green and sunny meadow, and dropping a big fresh pad of dung, of course.[footnote=8]

    In this exhibition, Spoerri’s coprophilic proposition is sweetly realized through chocolate. The “little shit roll” decorations, plopped in a ring around a great gold-leafed pile in the center of the cake, appear almost palatable homages to Manzoni’s famous sealed tins of Merda d’artista (1961).

    For Fluxus associate Joseph Beuys, chocolate fed into a larger surplus of goods—felt, fat, and flashlights—all associated in his work with maternal warmth and survival. Moreover, it had the almost alchemical properties Beuys admired in materials that, depending on temperature, shifted between liquid and solid states. In Zwei Fräulein mit leuchtendem Brot (1966), a bar of chocolate joins two sections of a scrolling band of concrete poetry, acting like a hilly landscape passage in a text which begins, “two women with shining bread, travel via…”[footnote=9] What follows is a nonsensical checklist that starts with “Télégraphe,” and continues with other stops on the Paris metro. The chocolate crops up after the “Pyrénées” stop creating a pause in the text, as if for a particularly difficult passage, that picks up again with the women now “returning.” They initially seem to follow the suggestive landscape of the candy bar, “Pyramides,” “Pyramidale,” “Pyramidon,” until the list dissolves into alliteration and proper names and finally ends where it began at “Télégraphe.” Perhaps in an effort to stave off the effects of blooming, Beuys painted the chocolate candy bar. (In chocolate parlance, “blooming” is the natural separation of fatty and solid substances that causes the surface to look white and chalky over time.) Covered in a coat of brown paint, this bar continues to appear shining and brown.

    Using chocolate and other foods, such as milk and cheese, to more Rabelaisian effect, Dieter Roth expressed an ambivalence towards permanence when he declared, “Not all art is eternal.”[footnote=10] P.o.t.A.a.Vfb   (Portrait of the Artist as a Vogelfutterbüste [Bird Food Bust]) (1969) was a series of small chocolate heads posted on boards, like suet statuettes available for perching and pecking. Even without avian intervention, the surface has grown pocked and pitted with time. Roth’s choice of chocolate and crudely rendered style of self-depiction reflects an image found in an autobiographical statement the artist made in 1976:

    D. Roth was born forty-six years ago…when the cannibal, awful Hitler, Adolf, was just getting the Germans going at their best hit, butchering war. Hell was loose, but Roth survived, shitting and pissing in his timid pants, poor shaking little turd…[footnote=11]

     Since 1968, Roth has recast this on-going chocolate self-portrait from these original manifestations. Roth envisioned the first one installed in a very perfunctory backyard fashion on a broom-stick pedestal, but, since 1969, he has also been accumulating the busts and stacking them on shelves into one monumental structure, the so-called I-Tower (“Selbstturm”). In 1989, the Museum of Contemporary Art in Basel allocated a room to the tower project, along with its companion piece, the Lion-Tower (“Löwenturm”) whose subject Roth conceived of in 1970 as a tribute to the woman he was living with then, born under the astrological sign of Leo. Like Bluebeard’s secret chamber, the door to the tower room is locked—a key is obtainable for the asking; Roth himself stops by from time to time to confect some fresh portraits in the small kitchenette. Overall, the installation is reminiscent of an archeological department, with unearthed treasures organized in relation to their sequence of excavation, all of them awaiting interpretive digestion.

    Bringing these experiments with the ephemeral and eternal into the commercial realm of Pop Art, Californian Ed Ruscha executed a series of drawings and paintings using chocolate and other organic materials, such as berry juice and egg yolk. “Well,” Ruscha said in a recent interview, “I sometimes refer to it as my ‘romance with liquids’ period, for lack of a better title… It was 1970 and I didn’t do any painting. It was the idea of putting a skin on a canvas that began to irritate me. I hated paint on canvas. And so ‘staining’ came out of that.”[footnote=12] In Well, Roughly (1971), chocolate and rose petals were pummelled into the fibers of the canvas to fill in the outlines of graphic lettering. The stained words create a poetic tautology of the title’s references to hesitation and aggression, delicacy and crudeness. As opposed to a still-life representation, this is a real-life memento mori, wrought from crushed flowers and foodstuffs that promise to fade and perhaps gradually vanish with age.

     

    XOCOATL

    The emperor took no other beverage than the chocolatl, a potation of chocolate, flavored with vanilla and other spices, and so prepared as to be reduced to a froth of the consistency of honey, which gradually dissolved in the mouth. This beverage, if so it could be called, was served in golden goblets, with spoons of the same metal or of tortoise-shell finely wrought.

    William Hickling Prescott, History of the Conquest of Mexico, (1843).[footnote=13]

     The forays that led artists during the late I960s to experiment with new materials established chocolate as a medium for contemporary art. But chocolate also comes vested with its own histories and meanings. Since people first concocted it, chocolate—which takes its name from the Mayan xocoatl and Aztec chocolatl—has been imbued with strong ritual, alimentary, and sensual powers. In Aztec culture, where cacao beans were bartered as payment for taxes, priests drank chocolate during religious ceremonies. King Montezuma was reported to have imbibed an inspirational concoction of chocolate mixed with psilocybin mushrooms as part of his coronation, and thereafter regularly enjoyed an unadulterated cupful before retiring to bed. Among the plunder Cortez took from Mexico to Spain were chocolate and gold. The rest of Europe had to wait for the marriage of a Spanish princess to a French king in 1660, when her dowry included the exotic new food. Thus introduced as a signifier of love and luxury, chocolate was served by eighteenth century courtesans to their lovers. Writing in the nineteenth century, French epicurean Brillat-Savarin commented: “Persons who take chocolate commonly enjoy pretty good health, and are less subject than other people to trifling complaints…” These claims persist in today’s chocolate lore.

     

    EASTER

    And in two minutes my mouth was full of fresh bread, and melting chocolate, and as we sat gingerly, the three of us, on the frozen hill, looking down into the valley where Vercingetorix had fought so splendidly, we peered shyly and silently at each other and smiled and chewed at one of the most satisfying things I have ever eaten. I thought vaguely of the metamorphosis of wine and bread—

    M.F.K. Fisher, The Pale Yellow Glove, 1937.[footnote=14]

    An ancient celebration of spring, Easter takes its name from the Saxon goddess of dawn, Eostre—a harbinger of life after the death of winter. It dovetailed nicely with the Christian celebration of the resurrection of Christ, which appropriated many of the pagan symbols of rebirth, including rabbits, hens, chicks, and eggs, lately cast in chocolate for holiday gift giving. A ready-made mold for a chocolate rabbit, Joseph Beuys’ Untitled (1978) earmarks the intersection between Celtic and Christian myths, traditions which in turn substantively informed Beuys’ work as a whole. For Beuys, who once tried to teach the meaning of art to a dead hare and whose oeuvre is replete with Celtic references, rabbits were important figures. Not only are they a traditional symbol of fertility, but as burrowing animals, they live close to the earth, the source of all goodness—spiritual and otherwise—in Beuys’ personal cosmos. The stuff of earth was further manifested in Beuys’ art through his frequent use of an industrial paint, which he called Braunkreuz. Literally meaning “brown-cross,” a reference to the Nazi brownshirts, Braunkreuz represented the intersection between the political and spiritual in Beuys’ art. The color of the chocolate rabbit—unmade but imagined—approximates its reddish brown hue.

    Chocolate Jesus may strike some as blasphemy, but Fluxus artist Larry Miller cites the Egyptian god Osiris, who was eaten en route to greater godliness, as another example, beyond Catholic communion, of food as an expression of religious reverence. His sculpture has a performative element. In its first apparition, A Cross (1969) was nailed to a gallery wall, but when summer temperatures transformed it into a runny strip and a blob on the baseboard, it was retitled Mass. The work in this exhibition, A Cross (1969-present) involves three cruciforms made at various times in a glass case, each at a different stage of transmogrification into dust alluding to ashes. There are also more recent casts available for eating, provided that the consumer signs a waiver releasing the manufacturer/artist “of all liability for any physical, mental and spiritual consequences.”[footnote=15]

    Part of the Catalan Easter festival, the mona was originally a simple cake, decorated with an egg, which a godparent presented to a godchild on Palm Sunday.[footnote=16] Over time, however, the mona has grown into a more elaborate edible, especially in Barcelona, where there is a old tradition of chocolate candy-making. In 1980, Antoni Miralda commissioned twenty-one of the city’s top confectioners to each contribute their favorite landmark, rendered in chocolate, to a diorama of Barcelona. Against a backdrop painted in pink-, blue-, and yellow-tinted chocolate looms the Palau Nacional Parc de Montjuic, the towers of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, the Plaça de Toros, and Copito Blanco, the albino ape at the Barcelona zoo. The installation was presented at the Galería Joan Prats in the Rambla de Catalunya on Easter day; the invitation was, of course, made of chocolate.[footnote=17]

    Like Miralda and Spoerri, Martina Eberle is an artist whose edible artworks cater to specific events. In conjunction with the opening of this exhibition, Eberle bought dozens of chocolate Easter bunnies and set them up on two tiers of a rotating pink platform under a circle of theatrical lights. As the temperature mounted under the hot bulbs, a torrent of action was unleashed: sugar eyeballs slid down runny bunny faces, ears toppled over tearing off loosened heads, while the artist scooped up the drips and served them to onlookers In the end, a molten mass was all that remained. These pathetic ruins are a grotesque abstraction such as Georges Bataille might have envisioned in his art of the informe—a surreal art that subverts the government of formal structure into an anarchic formlessness. Eberle’s apocalypse returns her once-beautiful subjects to the sort of primordial ooze from whence they came.

     

    CHOCOLATE WOMEN

    The story is told that in the seventeenth century Mexican ladies used to interrupt their church service by having their maids bring them cups of hot chocolate during mass. The Bishop was much displeased and warned them to stop the practice, but the ladies refused and so the Bishop excommunicated them from the church. For doing this he was poisoned, and died.

    Alma H. Austin, The Romance of Candy, 1938[footnote=18]

    On Easter Sunday morning in 1973, the avant-garde cellist Charlotte Moorman made her debut as “The Ultimate Easter Bunny” in a piece called Candy, created for her by Jim McWilliams and performed on the thirteenth floor of the Clocktower Gallery in New York. Winding up an account of the day’s sermons and parades, The New York Times reported:

    …The concert, conceived by Jim McWilliams, a happening artist, called for Miss Moorman and her cello to be coated with 60 pounds of chocolate fudge supplied by Savoia Bakery. She played in a setting of green cellophane grass with 20 dozen painted eggs strewn about, and she played what she described as “chocolate Easter music.”[footnote=19]

    Another “nude, chocolate-smeared young woman”—as Rowland Evans and Robert Novak dubbed performance artist Karen Finley in their nationally syndicated newspaper column—was met with considerably less tolerance by the media. Finley and three other solo performers became known as the NEA Four when the National Endowment for the Arts yielded to political pressure and, in an unprecedented reaction, denied grants to the artists despite their being endorsed by the NEA recommendation panel. The now infamous images of Finley sprinkling heart-shaped candies, alfalfa sprouts, and tinsel on her chocolate-covered body are only a small passage within a longer piece entitled We Keep Our Victims Ready, of which Finley performed a first version in 1989 at Sushi Gallery in San Diego. Mocking what women are supposed to be—“delectable sweeties”—she screams: “SMEAR CHOCOLATE ALL OVER BODY UNTIL YOU ARE A HUMAN SHIT—EAT SUZY Q’s, CHOCOLATE-COVERED CHERRIES…”[footnote=20] Finley says she intended her work as an aggressive attack against misogyny, with chocolate serving as a potent symbol of the verbal and physical abuses women are subjected to. “When I smear chocolate on my body it is a symbol of women being treated like dirt…”[footnote=21] The impact of her politically-charged chocolate statement reverberates at the core of a debate that is still raging around the question of moral standards, their place in art and their authority.

    Although quite different in tones and intentions, both Finley’s and Moorman’s works create pornographic images, with chocolate-smeared women representing an erotic invitation to pleasure or a grotesque display of humiliation.[footnote=22] In the writings of the Marquis de Sade, chocolate is the food of both libertines and their victims, providing sustenance for any number of forms of transgressive behavior. As Barbara Lekatsas observes in her essay, “Inside the Pastilles of the Marquis de Sade,” chocolate is the vehicle for poison meted out in Justine, a delicacy frequently served in the 120 Days of Sodom, along with the finest wines, urine and turds, and, in life, practically the legal undoing of the Marquis himself.[footnote=23] Throughout the writings of de Sade, chocolate turns up regularly between orgies of sex and violence. Commenting on this theme, Lekatsas quotes Roland Barthes, who writes:

    Sadean chocolate ends up by functioning as the pure sign of this dual alimentary economy…the victim’s food is always copious, for two libertine reasons: first, these victims too must be refreshed…and fattened up to furnish vice with fat dimpled “altars”; second, coprophagic passion demands an “abundant, delicate soft food”…Thus the function of food in the Sadean city: to restore, to poison, to fatten, to evacuate; everything planned in relation to vice.[footnote=24]

     Chocolate is a form of currency in the Marquis’ world of inverted morality, where cruelty and excess are rewarded at the expense of innocence and virtue. With their opposed imageries of bitter punishment and sweet reward, Finley’s and Moorman’s chocolate-smeared women might be seen as the flip sides of the coin of the realm. Janine Antoni’s series Lick and Lather (1993) comes up a conflicted combination of the two. These pairs of 19th-century style self-portrait busts, one made of chocolate, the other of soap, create a face-off between pleasure and purity, indulgence and restraint. What appears to be the effects of time are actually the results of self-mutilation and suppression. The artist bathed with the soap heads in the tub and licked the chocolate ones mute so that the features of both heads appear smoothed down to near anonymity.

    Like Roth, Antoni has worked extensively in chocolate. Of her monumental Chocolate Gnaw (1992), covered with tooth-marks and other violent signs of desperate consumption, she told an interviewer how her choice of chocolate as a material led her to develop the work’s conceptual core:

    I started with the idea that I wanted to chew on a 600 pound cube of chocolate. I took the first bite and then, whether I swallowed it or spit it out decided the meaning. When I spit it out, I knew I wanted to make the spit-out part into something else. Then it occurred to me that this was related to bulimia. So I started researching bulimia and found out that chocolate contains phenylethylamine, a chemical produced by the body in love—so from the gnawed chocolate I produced hearts.[footnote=25]

    Antoni’s works have been seen as a critique of minimalism, returning the presence of a desiring, uncontrolled body to that paradigm’s pristine and ordered program. Chocolate Gnaw was followed by a cube of lard of the same size, which the artist also nibbled and chewed on. Those bits were later shaped into lipsticks.

    Women and chocolate have a complicated relationship. As Diane Barthel-Bouchier points out in her preceding essay, “chocoholics” are predominantly female. (Men tend to crave meat.)[footnote=26] Chemically a stimulant, chocolate is considered addictive; it contains both caffeine and phenylethylamine, the endorphin associated with physical highs like exercise and orgasms.[footnote=27] A recent study, Why Women Need Chocolate, suggested the craving has at its source the desire for fertile and healthy reproductive bodies, turning chocolate consumption into a survival mechanism for the entire species.[footnote=28] Women’s biological needs are countered by their fear of over-indulgence, symptomatic of the sometimes perversely difficult female relationship between food and body. Artist Anya Gallaccio observed of the reaction to her installation Bite the Bullet (1992), which featured a heap of chocolate guns surrounded by a spray of real bullets, that men tended to focus on the impotence of the candy weapons, while women recognized in the phallically-cast chocolate a dangerously self-destructive appetite.

    Jana Sterbak’s Catacombs (1992)—a skull and other bones cast in extra-bitter chocolate—might be seen as a generally dark-humored take on death-by-chocolate. However, seen in conjunction with earlier works by Sterbak, specifically Vanitas: Flesh Dress for an Albino Anorexic (1987), a gown stitched from raw steaks, the bones take on a more intricate and gendered reading. In Western culture, catacombs and vanitas serve as reminders of the transience of existence. In Sterbak’s art, as the gown gradually cures and hardens into a translucent carapace and the chocolate bones whiten and eventually turn to dust, desiccated bodies pose a fragile barrier between life and death. With vanity a weakness traditionally ascribed to women in their role as commodities of men’s desire, these works also seem to signify the end of a particularly unhealthy relationship between the female body and the food which made her flesh. However, in these chocolate bones lies the peculiar contradiction between a martyr’s program of austerity and denial and the flagrant luxury and self indulgence of gorging oneself to death on chocolate. This ambiguity brings Sterbak’s Catacombs up short of the simple moral purpose of a traditional vanitas, leaving it open to a life of tantalizing speculation.

    By her own design, Hannah Wilke appears as both consumer and consumed in Venus Pareve (1982), a series of casts originally done in chocolate. According to Jewish dietary law, pareve signifies that a food contains neither milk nor meat, and can therefore be eaten with anything. Thus the beautiful Wilke offers up the mythic Roman goddess of love with her own religious seal of approval. In anticipation of the day when the chocolate figurines ran out, Wilke cast an additional edition of forty in plaster, painted in vibrant monochromes. Wilke, whose given name was Arlene Hannah Butter, claims to have grown up with an erotic awareness of her body in relationship to food: “As an American girl born with the name Butter in 1940, I was often confused when I heard what it was like to be used, to be spread, to feel soft, to melt in your mouth.”[footnote=29] Like butter, chocolate also melts just below body temperature, producing a pleasant cooling sensation on the tongue. It also has additional associations with eros and addiction. Wilke’s chocolate torsos have the potential of fulfilling her precocious fantasies of being licked and eaten, at the same time as they embody a certain narcissistic conceptual strategy. The artist’s plaster sculptures outlast the chocolate ones: Having entrapped the viewer’s attention by way of a simple weakness for chocolate (or is it flesh?), Wilke redirects that desire to a material both inert and inedible.


    THE CHOCOLATE WALL

    …(Julia) felt in the pockets of her overalls and produced a small slab of chocolate. She broke it in half and gave one of the pieces to Winston. Even before he had taken it he knew by the smell that it was very unusual chocolate. It was dark and shiny, and was wrapped in silver paper. Chocolate normally was dull-brown crumbly stuff that tasted…like the smoke of rubbish fire. But at some time or another he had tasted chocolate like the piece she had given him. The first whiff of its scent had stirred up some memory which he could not pin down, but which was powerful and troubling.

    George Orwell, 1984, 1949.[footnote=30]

    For the 35th Venice Biennale, Ed Ruscha produced Chocolate Room. The year was 1970, and many of Ruscha’s compatriots who were slated to participate in this international exhibition declined to do so, as part of a mass protest against the American government’s involvement with the Vietnam War.[footnote=31] Ultimately Ruscha’s room became a format for dissent, and even an allegory of destructive intervention. The gallery was completely shingled with sheets of paper (360 in all) silkscreened entirely over in Nestlé chocolate. Throughout the course of the exhibition, visitors graffitied the walls—using moistened fingertips to write through the chocolate—with anti-war sentiments. Finally phalanxes of Venetian ants attacked the remains, creating a beautiful tracery prior to actually destroying the piece.[footnote=32]

    A common luxury cultivated in colonial outposts throughout the non-industrialized world and manufactured by multinational corporations, chocolate is the product of global politics and world economies. In 1981, Hans Haacke captured the questionable relationship between big business and culture when he made contemporary art collector and chocolate baron Peter Ludwig the subject of a work entitled Pralinenmeister (The Chocolate Master) (1981). The piece consists of a series of seven diptychs, each photo-silkscreened with a portrait of Ludwig, a candy bar wrapper from one of Ludwig’s Monheim Group subsidiaries, and a text detailing how chocolate’s gross earnings have helped leverage Ludwig’s cultural and economic ambitions.[footnote=33]

    Although no candy per se was involved in Haacke’s work, chocolate effectively stands for capitalist culture, prefiguring its actual appearance in British sculptor Helen Chadwick’s Special Relationship (1995). In this model of British and American relations during the Ronald Reagan/ Margaret Thatcher years, two giant bars of Cadbury’s chocolate are beset by huge live cockroaches. (Cadbury’s purveys to the Queen; roaches eat anything.) Everything is inflated, except the size of the vitrine, which just barely houses the bugs and their rich food. One anticipates that over time, the insects will have either gorged themselves to death or exploded their population into unsustainable numbers, bringing a predictably unhappy close to this affair.[footnote=34]

    While Haacke and Chadwick use chocolate to ponder issues of empire, the collaborative team of Simon Grennan and Christopher Sperandio focuses on this consumer product in the context of everyday life. As part of Culture in Action, an ambitious city-wide public art project held in Chicago during the summer of 1993, the artists facilitated the packaging of a limited edition chocolate candy bar by members of the Bakery Confectionery and Tobacco Workers Union, Local 552. Going against the grain of popular marketing practices, which tend to remove any vestiges of labor from the eyes (and conscience) of a consumer, the workers named their product “We Got It!,” and put an American flag as well as their portraits and signatures on the wrapper. All of these decisions were democratically voted upon; the combination of purple and yellow was inspired by the clothing of one of the participants. With billboards emblazoning the city, the bar sold successfully throughout the duration of the exhibition, making chocolate the popular currency in a project whose overall aim was to incorporate communities typically disenfranchised by museum culture.

    Four Walls, an art gallery in Brooklyn, New York, invited twelve artists to design chocolate bonbons that would be produced and sold as a multiple to benefit the Four Walls Slide and Film Club.[footnote=35] Elaine Tin-Nyo’s string of beads cast from white chocolate brings to mind the old adage about pearls before swine. Drawing attention to the phallus shape of the traditional bar, Fred Tomaselli came up with a bi-purpose “Hershey’s,” good for “He” or “she” just by erasing a few of the letters. (This work is reminiscent of the series of Bog Queen collage drawings (1960-80) by neo-Dadaist Al Hansen, who used cut-outs of just the “she” part of the same candy bar’s wrapper.) Polly Apfelbaum, a self-declared chocoholic, confected her own “Polly” bar.

    Barbara Bloom joins Antoni, Apfelbaum, Roth, and Wilke in the pantheon of artists who have commemorated themselves in chocolate. As part of her installation project The Reign of Narcissism (1989), she produced the series Portrait Chocolate: Bloom. These tastefully packaged pastilles, each one molded with a profile of the artist, were one of a number of souvenir-type items that included classically re-styled portrait busts, tombstones, and cameos all in honor of Barbara Bloom. They fit into a larger discourse on accumulative impulse and vanity, presented in the form of a “Guide Book.”[footnote=36] This included parables excerpted from Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and Virginia Woolf’s The Lady and the Looking-Glass, for example, that together with Bloom’s self-absorbed objects speculate on the potential of achieving immortality through art. Catalogued like objects of virtue and illustrated together on a page in the guide book are a Queen Wilhelmina peppermint, a Queen Victoria and Prince Albert chocolate coin, and an Egyptian mummy-mask chocolate produced by Harrod’s of London, suggesting a noble, even transcendent purpose in Bloom’s own candy, which appears alongside them. For those with less particular palettes, Stephen Shanabrook has honored anonymous folk with boxes of chocolate body-parts cast at morgues in Russia (Evisceration of Waited Moments, 1993), and Ohio (Unidentified, 1993). Reflective of what Shanabrook found to be the bigger picture at each locale, most of those commemorated in the first box died from natural causes, while the latter box observes more violent endings, such as deaths by gun-shot wounds. All the candies are wrapped in brilliantly-colored foil.

    For an artists’ residency program called Furkart, based in a former inn located high on a peak in the Swiss Alps, Swiss artist Ian Anüll created an untitled edition of chocolate bars. Images of flying saucers on the front of the wrapper were somewhat demystified by three smaller photographs on the backside. The first was a joke-photo taken from a 1950 April Foo1’s Day edition of a Swiss newspaper supposedly depicting an extraterrestrial being held captive by uniformed officers. The second showed the same picture as it cropped up in the files of the American F. B. I.; the third showed it illustrating an authoritative report presenting evidence of life on other planets. Loaded into one of the hotel’s original candy displays, Anüll’s Untitled (Extraterrestrial) (1992) evoke a sci-fi fantasy, which begins on a remote mountaintop and ends in deliverance in outerspace.

    Chocolate candy bars crop up on another fictional alpine trek, this time offering ready-made assistance to the cartoon personages assembled by Karen Kilimnik in her scatter-style installation Switzerland, the Pink Panther & Peter Sellers & Boris & Natasha in Siberia (1991). Like Dada artist Kurt Schwitters, who frequently included candy bar wrappers in his collages of everyday ephemera, Kilimnik works a vein of Pop montage. However, compared to Schwitters’s train-station sweepings, Kilimnik’s collages are less democratic, and far more narrative in their contents. Her tableaux are reminiscent of Joseph Cornell boxes come unglued, and they evince obsessions similar to   Cornell’s, who also had a penchant for ballerinas and international travel. Kilimnik’s work also reflects her passion for sweets, particularly chocolate. A recent sculpture by Kilimnik, Poisoned Chocolates (1989), featured poison-laced chocolate balanced on a scale with an ounce of cocaine-like material, equating the seriousness of her addiction with one that is actually illegal. S.J. Curtis’ Courtship (Mutual Feeding) (1994) echoes this image of addiction with pieces of strychnine-saturated chocolate nestled between a pair of hypodermic syringes in a velvet-lined case.

    As delicate as cobwebs, Brazilian artist Fernanda Gomes’ wall drawings are collages of ephemera. Silk and linen threads, lilliputian pages torn from miniature dictionaries, grasses, and chocolate are materials which might be seen to signify (respectively) the costume, language, land, and natural economy of some unknown place. Through her minimal artworks, Gomes reaches back into culture of which barely a trace remains either—a non-invasive form of intervention, the antithesis of colonization or exploitation. In the site-specific drawing she created for this exhibition, chocolate is a barely whispered presence. Minute blobs of white chocolate weld pale threads together; part of a Droste pastille is affixed to the wall—with the “te” spelling out the Portuguese word for “you”—and has been painted over in a coat of opaque white paint. This final gesture is the artist’s homage to Beuys’ obscuring the brown chocolate with brown paint in his Two Women multiple.

    Chocolate is part of the texture of everyday life. Or so seems to be the case with Gomes’ subdued wall-drawing, and so too, with Anya Gallaccio’s, Stroked, an entire wall painted in rich brown chocolate. Stroked is the antecedent to Couverture (1994), another site-specific installation: a chocolate-coated cell located deep in the basement of the Filiale Gallery in Basel. These lushly painted but pictorially stark environments seem to participate in the current critique of minimalism being promulgated by such artists as Antoni and Felix Gonzalez-Torres. Gonzalez-Torres is known for his candy sculptures, including a forty-pound spill of Baci candies. “Baci” is Italian for “kisses.”  The silvery wrappers invest the steely serenity of minimalism with an uncharacteristically sweet appetite, affectionate disposition, and (given that the candies are there to be taken) accessible distribution. However, Gallaccio, who like Ruscha has also worked with flowers, maintains that her interest lies less in a critique than a direct involvement with materials, a process that she characterizes as collaboration.[footnote=37] And so her chocolate wall may be regarded as a voluptuous, sensual skin, ready to envelop the viewer in the rich perfume of chocolate and a mesmerizing haze of soft and buttery brushstrokes.

     

    IT’S A CHOCOLATE, CHOCOLATE, CHOCOLATE, CHOCOLATE WORLD

    And what a palace it was! It had one hundred rooms, and everything was made of either dark or light chocolate! The bricks were chocolate, and the cement holding them together was chocolate, and the windows were chocolate, and the walls and ceilings were made of chocolate, so were the carpets and the pictures and the furniture and the beds; and when you turned on the taps in the bathroom, hot chocolate came pouring out.

    Roald Dahl, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, 1964.[footnote=38]

    In the chocolate world—fragrant, nourishing, warm, and just repulsive enough to keep one feeling alive and on edge—what’s playing for music? There’s Charlotte Moorman’s cello “chocolate Easter music.” But if that’s too seasonal, spin a chocolate platter, pressed by Peter Lardong. Lardong is a former fork-lift operator who has sunk his life-savings into crack-pot inventions, such as an automatic talking catfood feeder and recordings done in beer and ice. Chocolate titles include In the Ghetto by Elvis Presley, Ich will keine Schokolade, ich will lieber einen Mann (“I don’t want Chocolate, I want a Man”), and the Babysitter Boogie. All are available from his own factory where they come with instructions to play them slightly chilled for best results. With Franco Götte’s chocolate dentures near at hand, eat chocolate until your teeth drop out of your head, supping at the table laden to capacity by Ultra Violet. The one-time member of Andy Warhol’s entourage and constant chocolate fan has arranged chocolate-coated goblets, utensils, plates, and—in a touch of surreality fit for Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast—chocolate roses and cigars. Feast your eyes on the chocolate Hall of Fame, whose ranks are represented by Franz Ziegler’s chocolate bust of Nefertiti, Susan and Ewald Notter’s Marilyn Monroe, and a bust of Swiss minimalist Olivier Mosset by confectionery artist Thomas Vaccaro.

    Or just gaze up into the glass eyes of Eric Magnuson’s giant Chocolate Moose (1995). For by this point, chocolate has thoroughly coated the tongue and even overtaken language, so that a trifling cup of mousse is transformed through some absurd slip into an almost incomprehensibly large chocolate trophy. So smitten, now, sink back into Peter Boynton’s Large Chocolate Syrup (1993) modeled after the classic modernist chaise lounge by Charles Eames, with the hard plastic seat upholstered in a thick coat of chocolate. It serves as a gentle reminder that chocolate is the antithesis to the modernists’ plan for streamlined reduction and lands one in the realm of unsublimated impulses and desires which cannot be suppressed by puritanical design.

     

    CHOCOLATE DELUGE

    In its physical resemblance to mud, the act of touching, molding, packing, and piling chocolate into shape harkens back to creation myths of imposing order on ooze. But the chocolate Kunstwollen veers from the basic to the base when its allusions turn from ooze to excrement. (This relationship is right there in the cooking—a recent surf through the Internet turned up recipes for chocolate desserts called Dirt and Doodoo Balls.) Like Karen Finley, the American performance artist Paul McCarthy slathers foodstuffs, such as chocolate, ketchup, and mayonnaise that resemble human fluids and waste, on his body during performances of such personae as the Pig Man and the Captain of the Death Ship. Beyond making a Freudian spectacle of regressive coprophilic behavior, these are the sights, sounds, and smells of apocalypse. The music that wells up out of the basin of Helen Chadwick’s chocolate fountain (Cacao, I994) is the antithesis of the tinkling play of water that soothes and quiets jangled nerves. It’s the shuddering, plopping, sound of smothering doom one hears on the brink of the La Brea Tar Pits. This may cast chocolate at its darkest, but even here morbidity slips into humor. The slumped pile of Claes Oldenburg’s Earthquake (1969) is a chocolate model for an (unrealized) amusement park ride that would send anxious revelers through the rumbling bowels of a chocolate Matterhorn.

    Cast, melted, or corroded into dust, chocolate seems capable of assuming endless sculptural forms, conceptual roles, and of conveying as many meanings within contemporary art. However, there is a commonality expressed throughout this history, and again, the key lies in the Chocolate Grinder, in whose depiction Duchamp experienced a certain freedom. He wrote, “Through the introduction of straight perspective and a very geometrical design of a definite grinding machine like this one, I felt definitely out of the cubist straightjacket.”[footnote=39] This sense of liberation combined with a “definite grinding” eroticism makes Duchamp’s machine emblematic of the very properties artists who use chocolate as a material have since enjoyed.

    By its organic nature, chocolate defies the notion of art as an eternal property. Images and objects rendered in chocolate perform in relation to the passage of time. Chocolate art does not stand still for the annals of history. Likewise, it resists falling into line with history’s traditionally formal concerns. For art conservators, who must determine to what extent these changes form part of a work’s intent, such action proves a delicate dilemma.[footnote=40] Perhaps the piece is supposed to fall away, like a life, into a state of irreparable ruin or death. Chocolate’s kinship with the body is further particularized by its unique physicality and nature. Capable of at once being sweet and cloying, irresistible and disgusting, delectable and wasteful, chocolate embodies the contradictions of the flesh. And it is the body, with all of its slippery complexities and mutable desires, which in turn serves as the conceptual point of focus around which to build a naturally nuanced, ever-changing and accommodating chocolate art history.

  • “Digging back into ‘Deep Storage’ and Deep Storage.” Deep Storage: Collecting, Storing, and Archiving in Art. Munich and New York: Prestel-Verlag and Siemens Kulturprogramm, 1998, pp. 10–21.

    Digging back into “Deep Storage”

    This project started as an essay by one author and evolved into an exhibition organized by five curators plus a battery of support. Now it is documented by a catalogue with essay contributions by fifteen authors. And still we cannot possibly presume to have wrapped up our topic: storage and archiving as imagery, metaphor or process in contemporary art. For at every turn DEEP STORAGE: Arsenale der Erinnerung falls subject to itself: a package overwhelmed by its own contents, which strains against the very processes of containment it seeks to represent. Beginning with the process of selection, for some the notion of storage conjures memory (things saved become souvenirs), for others history (things saved become information). And yet for others, storage is a provocative spectacle of material culture that hails the virtual as an ideal form of relief from the everyday problem of what to do with all this stuff. In short, the idea of storage cannot be easily contained. The arsenal threatens to explode, even before a single artist has been chosen.

    Rather than attempt to streamline, the topic here serves as an empty drawer or attic, a data-space, into which many diverse notions of storage have been delivered. Of course there were criteria. Every box needs walls. All of the works in this exhibition involve materials or processes associated with keeping art over time. These papers and packages conjure three sites: the storeroom/museum, the archive/library and the artist’s studio, an intersection of both. The studio is the place where art is not only made, but stored and documented. As the works in DEEP STORAGE seem to prepare themselves to be remembered or forgotten, one of the larger themes that emerges is the construction of history itself. This art raises questions about preservation, and produces some startlingly mundane and imaginative proofs of what history might actually consist of.

    The exhibition’s particular circumstances, organized as a German-American exchange, prompted a reflection on these points of national origin. Instituting Kunst Geschichte as a formal and philosophical discipline (not just an aristocratic act of connoisseurship), Germany is the cradle of art historical practice. America is the place where Conceptualism first turned documentation into a new art form. Here, a small group of historic works stretch the show’s play of images and ideas beyond the present to early modern models of storage and archiving. The main body of the show begins in the 1960s to focus on art of the 1990s, where several computer-based works extend the issues of DEEP STORAGE into the twenty-first century.

    The results will read like an assemblage. Unlike a thematic show whose elements all riff off and return to an encompassing framework, this one constantly refers outside itself. The following essay, for example, includes a number of important artists whose work is not represented in the exhibition. This suggests that storage is a potentially endless topic and allows that this curatorial project is by no means definitive.

     

    Deep Storage

    If the gallery is the museum’s public face, the storerooms are its private parts – the place where art is collated, concealed, and kept from view. Of the museum collection’s obscure bulk, only a tiny proportion ever makes it into the light of exhibition. To visit the storeroom, where objects dwell cut off from critical aura, is to contemplate art in a state’ of temporal remission. Paintings hang in row upon graceless row, on rack after regimented rack. Sculptures mill about like excess baggage. In that other great repository, the museum archive, dead documents lie in a state of suspended insignificance. Ironically, the storeroom stirs with signs of life. The skin of the unwrapped package, the spectacle of an unopened container or closed file can be an arousing suggestion of unknown possibilities, with contents made desirable precisely through their inaccessibility. When artists deploy this imagery the results are “deep storage”: work which both anticipates its own future condition and reflects on past, often accumulative, aspects of the artists’ visual practice.

    Precedents for this art, as with so many others, lie stowed in a suitcase. Marcel Duchamp casually dismissed his project of the Boîtes-en-valise as mere financial enterprise – “small business, I assure you”[footnote=1]– an attempt to drum up a little cash. More recent valuations acknowledge the Boîtes as the first critique of museum practice: it “parodies the museum as an enclosed space for displaying art…mocks [its] archival activity…[and] satirically suggests that the artist is a travelling salesman whose concerns are as promotional as they are aesthetic.”[footnote=2] But the project seems to have been more self-consciously motivated than either claim recognizes.

    It was 1938; the war was encroaching, and Duchamp’s art had already proved vulnerable to accident. The Large Glass was cracked in transit between Brooklyn and Katherine Dreier’s home in 1926, though this was not revealed until the crate was opened several years later. What better place to preserve the past than a museum? And so Duchamp devised one small enough to fit into a suitcase. He commissioned printers and light manufacturers throughout Paris to make 320 copies of miniature versions of each of his artworks, customized a briefcase to store and display them, hastily packed the rest of his bags and came to America.[footnote=3] The task of assembling and editioning the Valises stretched beyond Duchamp’s death in 1964. In the end the project was not only autobiographical, a life-long summation, but anticipatory as well. As an artwork designed to be unpacked, the viewing of the Valises carries the same sense of expectation and event as the opening of a crate.

    The crate is, of course, a carapace and a coffin. In an increasingly international art world, works are routinely sealed up into protective bins and cartons to be jetted off to exhibitions and salesrooms all over the world. Entering the collection or returned to the studio, they are consigned to storage in this same secreted state, sometimes never to be opened again. Over time, the crate supplants its contents as the object under consideration, the thing which is monitored, moved, and maintained.

    Accelerating this eventuality are Richard Artschwager’s recent crate sculptures: empty wooden boxes that deviate only slightly from true art shipping form. An unlikely corner, sly angle, or jog in the silhouette embody the gestalt of Artschwager’s furniture-like sculptures and, resting in their chamfered frames, his sculptural paintings. Collectively, these funereal objects transform the gallery into a crypt, subjecting the history of Artschwager’s achievements to the crudest form of encapsulation. They adjudicate the roughest assessment of art as so much cultural furniture.

    Haunting the storage spaces of galleries, museums and auction houses, Louise Lawler photographs the object-inmates as they move from racks and rooms, wheel past conservation studios, pause in corridors, wearily stand on view, step up to auction blocks and shuffle back into the storeroom. A dormant pall hangs over these transactions, making the bustle of the marketplace and the dynamism of history into equally mythic properties. To watch the digital counters affixed to Ashley Bickerton’s sculptures, set during the ago-go 1980s and ticking away the seconds of a presumably ever-increasing worth, today seems only wistful.

    The sense of loss which is intrinsic to these critiques depends on a consensus on what’s at stake. (You cannot mourn what you don’t care for.) To this extent, the crate becomes a figurative presence. René Magritte made light of this potential in his pastiches of David’s Madame de Recamier and Manet’s Le Balcon, in which the subjects of the original paintings are encrypted into craftily customized coffins. Artschwager’s self-reflexive crates confront the viewer with the immediate presence of totems. With their plain pine facades, they recall something Magritte once wrote about trees:

    “Pushed from the earth toward the sun, a tree is an image of certain happiness. To perceive this image, we must be immobile like a tree. When we are moving, it is the tree that becomes a spectator. It is witness, equally, in the shape of chairs, tables and doors to the more or less agitated spectacle of our life. The tree having become a coffin, disappears into the earth. And it is transformed into fire, it vanishes into air.”[footnote=4]

    Marcel Broodthaers brings this imagery of identification to its most intimate disclosure, writing of a “deep storage”-style installation he created for his own Musée d’Art Moderne, Département des Aigles, Section XIXème Siècle, located in his Brussels apartment: “My crates are empty. We are on the brink of the abyss. Proof: when I’m not here, there’s nobody.”[footnote=5]

    Other artists seem more resigned to the ephemeral nature of representation. Rirkrit Tiravanija, for example, makes works as temporal as campsites. For one installation, he moved the contents of 303 gallery’s store room out into its exhibition space. In the now-emptied back room, he set up a small stove to cook and serve meals to itinerant gallery-goers. During his absences, dishes and pans indicated the artist’s imminent return. In the meantime, the space afforded by Untitled (Free) (1992) generously envisioned a world without storage problems.

    In many cases, the storage of fine art has become practically an art in its own right: crates and conservation measures sometimes seem more elaborate than the very works they are designed to protect. Captivated by its symbols, labels, and materials, as well as the mysterious forms it engenders, Martin Kippenberger has cultivated the beauty of fine arts handling. It’s a far-ranging aesthetic. Bins of the artist’s own canvases, shown as if jettisoned from the warehouse, are as romantic as ruined temples. The crates Kippenberger exhibits alongside his sculptures are so intricately absurd that, in the manner of the best gothic art, they defy common sense. Striped cardboard boxes exhibited like Donald Judd wall-sculptures are smooth minimalist icons. And a series of mummified works, wrapped in Kippenberger’s own customized packing tape, becomes archeological treasure, mysterious fetishes of some marginal sect.

    Taking this Egyptian preoccupation one step further, Jason Rhoades fashioned an entire installation of his artworks and possession as if entombed in a suburban family garage. While Kippenberger elevates wrappers to the status of artworks, Rhoades intimates that it’s all – art and sepulcher alike – so much trash. With Suitcase with Past Financial Endeavors (1993), a shabby version of Duchamp’s Valise, Rhoades conjures up a comic image in which the suitcase takes advantage of the first-class luxury of the contemporary art circuit. Packed meticulously by professional handlers, fawned over by devoted registrars, expensively insured and gingerly installed like a relic in a vitrine, this slacker suitcase filled with rolls of cellophane tape, magic markers, balled-up aluminum foil, chocolate “shitty pops” and vials of “wee-wee” will travel from gallery, to museum, to collection, taking an occasional time-out to relax in climate-controlled store rooms, a Beverly Hillbilly come to high-culture.[footnote=6]

    Occasionally an artist is invited to infiltrate the sanctum santorum. Museum exhibitions that feature artists as curators seem to have made their debut in 1970 with Andy Warhol’s “Raid the Icebox” at the Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design.[footnote=7] David Bourdon describes Warhol’s tour of the vaults:

    Warhol wanted the entire shoe collection. Did he mean the cabinet as well? “Oh yes, just like that.” But what about the doors? Would he allow people to open and close them? “Spectator participation,” Warhol murmured… One of the biggest surprises for Warhol was finding one of his own works…sharing a rack with two Charles Hawthornes and one Zoltan Sepeschy. “Doesn’t it make you sad to see all these forgotten artists?” Robbins asked Warhol. “…uh…”[footnote=8]

    A work’s fate once it leaves the studio domain can prove the source of some anxiety. Contemplating the unknown, Franz Erhard Walther took precautions against the possible mishandling of his First Work Series (1963-69). This multi-faceted sculpture consists of a suite of “before” drawings, the realized fabric sculptures, “after” photographs documenting these in performative use, and a sturdy shelving-unit for storing the entire ensemble. Altogether the piece serves as both museum and archive: a pragmatic minimalist structure that attempts to control its own physical and interpretive destinies. On a similar hermetic note are On Kawara’s date paintings, which come housed in their own cardboard boxes. Inside the lid of each box is affixed a newspaper page for the day in question situating the day’s work in a world of external events.

    Reifying a stored work’s existence through a paper-trail of photographs, sales records, loan forms, and letters is the archive. The archive was also Walter Benjamin’s great unfinished project: an attempt to organize the tidal waves of an ensuing modernity into a cohesive architecture of information and imagery. The inherent futility of this attempt, as each fragile structure slips beneath the crushing weight of the next oncoming wave, makes for an appropriately unstable paradigm in an age of mechanical reproduction that is itself giving way to the juggernaut of the information superhighway.

    For artists working from mediated imagery, as opposed to first-hand experience, archives are invaluable studio references. Eugène Atget, whose work was once primarily purchased by other artists and engravers as reference tools, referred to himself not as a photographer, but as an archivist. (Duchamp decided to give up painting to become a freelance librarian at the Bibliothèque Sainte-Genevèive in Paris.)[footnote=9] Among Joseph Cornell’s papers are neatly titled dossiers – whose subjects include “Claire Bloom,” “Clouds,” “Patty Duke,” “Peter Engels,” “Marilyn Monroe” and “Photography” – which he referred to and culled from for his collage. Likewise, Karen Kilimnik collects information on everything from “Andy Warhol” to “Waterbabies” as possible fodder for her scatter-style, collage drawings and installations. For both artists, personal obsessions sustain collecting impulses that give way to assemblage by way of the archive. For the collaborative team of Kate Ericson and Mel Ziegler, whose perfume Etês-vous servi? (1992) reproduces the scent of the National Archives in Paris, the repository is its own obsession.

    Working in an undefined interstice between archivist and artist, collector and curator, Douglas Blau maintains a vast accumulation of film stills, postcards, photographs, and magazine clippings, for use in his picture shows: installations of cycles of uniformly framed images lined up in neat rows on the wall. This format results in a deceptively simple narrative. It’s easy enough to read one image at a time (in both pictures someone is holding a book), or in a sweeping panoramic view (moving from pictures of individuals to pictures of groups). But it would be as impossible to reconstruct this idiosyncratic flow of information entirely as it would be to reconstruct a given film frame by frame, or a painting brush-stroke by brush-stroke. Thrown back on the curatorial project as a whole, Blau’s selections suggest that every exhibition should, to some degree, be read as a fiction that reflects an author’s predilections and is composed of what’s at hand and what someone remembered to dig out of storage.

    Sometimes the collecting impulse overwhelms the archival process. Instead of throwing things away, Warhol crammed his unopened mail and other casually-acquired ephemera into cardboard boxes, which he stowed in his home and studio. Currently being opened and catalogued at The Andy Warhol Museum, the Time Capsules’ contents would seem a historian’s dream – a post-marked paper backdrop to the famous artist’s daily life. Except that the staggering volume of the capsules reveals Warhol’s revenge, drowning the speculator in details of little or no importance.

    The artist’s life is a grand archive, in which every discarded receipt, marginal note, or studio scrap might some day be deemed tremendously significant. Besides Warhol, consider the Robert Mapplethorpe and Jackson Pollock/Lee Krasner Foundations, dedicated to compounding interest in their subjects daily through the availability and upkeep of archives. These archives spawn those other great testaments of worth, catalogues raisonnés, such as the giant tome just published in conjunction with the Bruce Nauman exhibition. Jockeying for control of the raw material are institutions like The Getty, which offers to pay living artists large sums of money for their dead papers. While these activities maintain and minister to a flourishing art market, with studios run like small businesses in the larger economy, the resultant accumulations of documents are also telling memory banks, demonstrating the ways in which historic figures are valued.

    The issue looms measurably in Meg Cranston’s Who’s Who by Size, University of California Sample (1993). These blank stelae portray the relative importance of a panoply of cultural figures, from Emily Dickinson to Mohammed Ali, according to the number of inches of shelf space they occupy within the stacks of the library at the University of California. With individual merit counting for little – Nikola Tesla is dwarfed by Thomas Edison, despite his substantial contribution to engineering – it’s the adage of the art review come true: when it comes to securing a place in history, perhaps it’s not so much what gets written as the number of inches racked up in print.

    When Sarah Seager approached the Smithsonian Institute’s Archives of American Art with Excuse My Dust (1992-93), she implicitly challenged the archival system of inclusion. Her donation of found correspondence written or received by the former archivist of the Huntington Library, was subtitled, Why do we circulate all these papers when everyone says it will make no difference? It tells of “…the archivist’s coming to terms with his wife’s nearly fatal bout of pneumonia” and in itself, serves no more or less a purpose than documenting a fragment of a facet of a otherwise untold story. However, housed in the Archives of American Art under “The Sarah Seager Papers”, they speak of a historical process that only selectively chooses its evidence from a vast arena of information, while the rest falls away into an ocean of insignificance.[footnote=10]

    Anxiety and dust provoke the archiving impulse. In the museum – the mausoleum most artists still aim to enter through their work – the recesses of the storeroom simultaneously beckon and bar access to history. Art that assumes the storeroom’s cladding and demeanor displays a desire to repose within the museum’s collection. At the same time, these works also elude the museum’s authority by inventing alternative systems of self-containment outside its ordination. These systems might be seen as individual struggles against time, or as simply autobiographical.

    The process of storing is always one of mirroring and self-evaluation. Whether that self is a cultural body, squirrelish individual, or Citizen Kane, “you are what you keep.” When these dual modes of internal and external assessment intersect in an art of impenetrable closure or inexhaustible accumulation, they attain an ongoing afterlife within deep storage.

  • “Ensemble Encore,” Christian Marclay: Festival (no. 2). New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 2010, pp. 8-17.

    Ensemble Encore

    Very much a piece of his work, even though none was in it, Ensemble was a group show organized by Christian Marclay, who drew on his credentials as an artist, musician, and deejay to engage others in a project they might have resisted in the hands of most curators. Because, as the title suggests, the exhibition was conceived as a composition to which each work contributed some sound. Not that we in the post-retinal field of contemporary art necessarily lack the ear; it’s more a question of trust. “Sound artists routinely see their work relegated to the lobby, elevator, toilet, and basement, or simply put outdoors,” Marclay observed.[footnote=1] He knew from experience. Indeed, it was the opportunity to counteract this tendency of museums to isolate the act of listening from that of looking at art that prompted him to accept an invitation from the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) at the University of Pennsylvania (Penn), and conceive this exhibition in the first place.”[footnote=2]

    Under the guise of “guest curator,” Marclay operated more along the lines of “generator-arbitrator.” This is the term Marcel Duchamp coined to describe his own role as an artist making exhibitions (which he routinely did) by compelling peers to contribute to a collaboratively constructed tableau. Any reference to Duchamp taps deep into the roots of Marclay’s practice, from the name of the experimental band – The Bachelors, even – that he performed with during the 1980s, to a more recent installation to empty museum crates outfitted with music boxes that played like so much hidden noise (Music Boxes [from Crossings], 1999), to the very Duchampian sense of agency that allows Marclay, as a conceptual artist, to move freely between making objects and music. Nor is Ensemble the first museum exhibition Marclay has organized in his career; there is a strain of shows, starting in 1995 at the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire in Geneva, in which he has drawn aural images and objects from historic collections to create installations that perform like silent concerts, filling the viewer’s mind with pictures of unheard melodies.

    However, Ensemble is the first time Marclay made an exhibition with works borrowed from his contemporaries. In this case, Duchamp’s approach proved more conducive. Acting as an agent among peers, Marclay made Ensemble not only to illustrate his solidarity with sound artists, he also neatly sidestepped issues of authority and submission that would otherwise have loomed large in the creation of a show in which each work was selected as an instrument that would complement the others and culminate in an overarching composition. No artist wants his or her work to be instrumentalized by a curator, but who doesn’t want to be a part of a cool band?

    Ensemble was not just curated, it was orchestrated. Using both eye and ear, Marclay selected twenty-seven works by as many artists that made some kind of acoustical or natural sound (i.e., not amplified). Mineko Grimmer’s giant bamboo curtain was set rattling as soon as one entered the gallery, which was filled with bright and shimmering noises: there were bells gonging, pieces of china clinking, a teapot whistling, metronomes clicking, music-box tines pinging. Not everything played at once: Some works, like Dennis Oppenheim’s Attempt to Raise Hell (1969) and Michelangelo Pistoletto’s Orchestra of Rags (1968) were on timers; others, like Martin Kersels’s Creakers (2007) and Katja Kölle’s Staccato (americano) (2004/2007) required viewer interaction. Motion detectors set Carolee Schneemann’s War Mop (1996) a-beating and Fia Backström’s Visitor Chime (1996) a-chiming. Sometimes the show ticked and hummed like a nervous cabinet of curiosities. There were the constant clinks of Céleste Boursierr-Mougenot’s thirty-one bowls floating in a plastic inflatable swimming pool and the regular flap of Darren Almond’s monumental flip-clock. Other times the exhibition erupted into urban din. Lift the lid of The Alarming Trashcan (c. 1987), by Yoshi Wada, for an alarm bell-deafening din. Occasionally the phone would ring. I was in the gallery the day that two little boys got to talk to their father’s favorite artist, Yoko Ono. More often, Ono would reach the gallery guard Linda Harris, and they would have a quick chat.

    Overall, as Ono’s Telephone Piece (1997) might intone, Ensemble was very Fluxus in feeling, in terms of both the ordinary and readymade nature of the objects on view, and the flow of chance and happenstance that brought the show to life every day. Echoes of the historical movement that emerged during the 1960s turn into clear sound when one considers the exhibition in light of Marclay’s 2004 video installation Shake Rattle and Roll (Fluxmix), in which he handles objects form the Walker Art Center’s formidable collection of Fluxus art like tiny instruments to produce a matrix of sounds.

    As playful as Ensemble was, it also contained the specter that haunts all kinetic art: When it’s not moving, it’s dead. Enter the Accompanists. Marclay invited eight musicians and performance artists to add their own sounds to the exhibition and interact with it. The vocalist Shelley Hirsch gave throat to works in the show; electronic musicians o.blaat (Keiko Uenishi), Aki Onda, and Alan Licht sampled and produced feedback for themselves to loop and play and drone back into; sculptor Terry Adkins beat jazz percussion from the more instrumental objects. One of the original Fluxus artists, Alison Knowles, performed with her own accompanist, a volunteer Penn student, whom Knowles armored in crinkling sheets of mulberry paper and paraded ceremoniously (and blindly) about.

    Collectively the Accompanists pitched into relief the musical meaning of ensemble: A concert piece involving a number of voices or instruments. The show was also a score, arranged by Marclay only to be played, sampled, and given variations by the viewers who interacted with it. Sampling and scoring being the primary modes of Marclay’s practice, Ensemble was as representative as it was generative. Its staging calls to mind Graffiti Composition (1996-2002) in which sheets of musical composition paper were pasted around the city to be marked up by people and documented through photographs, which were published as an edition to be used as a score.

    As much a populist as he is a conceptual artist, Marclay often plays off and with public accessibility and participation. Performed annually, The Sounds of Christmas (1999) allows deejays to spin, mash, and mix tunes from Marclay’s collection of more than one thousand holiday records. Likewise, so many images, ideas, and anecdotes continue to spin out of Ensemble and attach themselves to bigger thinking and to memory. As a viewer, each visit was episodic, depending on who and what sounds were playing in the gallery with you. Small children leaping to pull the clappers of Jim Hodges’s blown-glass bells comes to mind. As does the day that a talented viewer picked up the mallets and hammered beautiful music from Doug Aitken’s K-N-O-C-K-O-U-T. And from my peripheral curatorial involvement, I know the show created much lore within the institution and for the individuals involved. There was that scavenger hunt for the vintage amp required by one of the performers that plunged the ICA curatorial department into an uproar.[footnote=3] And there is the idea of the Accompanists as a curatorial model of programming that activated an exhibition from within: Each performance was integral – as opposed to ancillary – to the artist-curator’s total composition of objects within the gallery. Perhaps my favorite outcome is the various recordings, including one you can find on Ubuweb online, of a student reciting John Cage’s Notes on Silence inside the exhibition.[footnote=4] You can actually hear the walls of the gallery, baffling and bouncing with all of the intriguing and dissonant volumes this exhibition contains. What is especially audible it the reality of the situation: ICA’s galleries were not built for showing sound. The acoustics are terrible! But boy, did Ensemble sound good.

  • “On Dirt.” Dirt on Delight: Impulses That Form Clay. Philadelphia: Institute for Contemporary Art, University of Pennsylvania, 2009, pp. 25-31.

    On Dirt

    These days the annals on dirt flop right open to writings on the informe or “formless.” That principle, as theorized by the French philosopher Georges Bataille, itself frequently recourses to mentions of mud. Mud oozes up around the big toe in Bataille’s rumination on that appendage, which enabled us as humans to stand erect in the first place. Head up to sky perhaps, but feet *and mind) forever mired. Mud is viscous and lugubrious. Smacking of excrement – of excess and expenditure – it is a base material, one of life’s raw essences. And it is home to those poor little earthworms Bataille calls upon to help his readers conceptualize the power of the informe to confer status so low as to be crushable on the spot and made formless as spit. This peculiar power is what makes the informe such a critical operative in recent art history: it undoes a narrative that privileges form, while offering nothing as an alternative. Nothing being everything in the universe rendered formless. In other words, the informe is a noun that performs as a verb. Bataille called it a mode d’emploi. And given what good use he made of mud, the informe seems an excellent rhetoric to employ in a discussion of clay as both material and impulse in contemporary art.

    There is even a guide for the discussion to follow: Yves-Alain Bois’s and Rosalin E. Krauss’s Formless: A User’s Guide. Published in conjunction with their 1996 exhibition at the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris, this book puts Bataille’s thinking to use by identifying those moments of slippage and rupture that signify the informe at work. Take, for instance, Jackson Pollock’s “allover painting,” a term that comes to sound like a quaint euphemism once you have seen his expulsive squirts and cloudy skeins obliterate the so-called language of abstraction. Likewise desecrating the field of postwar abstraction are Lucio Fontana’s ceramic sculptures with their scatological concreteness and fetishistically fingered surfaces. Dirt on Delight includes a work by Fontana – albeit a relatively more figurative one than the Formless example, which is impressively compared to a “massive turd.” And though it’s not mentioned in the Guide, Pollock also worked briefly in clay. There is a photograph of him in the 1967 Museum of Modern Art catalogue standing over a potter’s wheel. With an apron over his shirt and tie, he looks like a butcher, his hands covered in muck. The wheel belonged to an East Hampton neighbor, one Mrs. Lawrence Larkin, who evidently helped Pollock during the summer of 1949 make several abstract ceramic sculptures. The picture of one squished and spattered examples looks pretty much how one would imagine a rough sketch of the formless in clay would look.

    Since clay was only an incidental medium for Pollock, his work is not part of Dirt on Delight. However, the exhibition is teaming with objects, images, and gestures that resonate with an appreciation of the informe. Pats and piles, drips and smears, pinches and slashes, cuts and holes, squeezes and stretches. The notion of leveling also seems relevant to the exhibition’s general lack of formal distinctions. Whether at thing is kitsch, craft, amateur, folk or art does not signify. It’s all just so much earthworm castings: material to use. In terms of this show, it’s as if clay itself were a leveling medium, a disruptive fieldn of operations in which advancing and refressing are indistinguishable objectives. By the time we have entered the installation and are surrounded, it’s time to drop the Guide. (That is, it if hasn’t already been requisitioned by the authorities.) As useful as it is for making a theoretical approach to this material, it will only carry us so far in actually engaging with the works on view. The informe stops at nothing, remember. Yet, there remains so much dirt to dish. Or wedge.

    The first step in working with wet clay is to wedge it. This involves kneading, slapping and squeezing out any air bubbles that might lead to explosions in the kiln later down the line. Physical and direct, wedging offers a useful demonstration for getting to the material at hand: let’s just pummel the dirt out of clay. Slapped from all sides, as opposed to squeezed through one reading or text, dirt yields up many possible meanings, associations and histories for those who would engage in working with, looking at and thinking about clay. Ever resilient, it punches back with constant hits of delight. Like sex, the physicality and sensuality of which thrum throughout this exhibition, discerning the dirty from the delightful is inextricably intertwined when it comes to a material as elemental as clay.

    “First of all,” observed Rudolf Staffel, “working with clay (as anyone who’s ever touched clay knows), is a primordial experience that is very, very comfortable. I think every infant has manipulated something that was soft and gushy and pleasant to touch.” Staffel’s medium of choice was porcelain, the whiteness of which does not mask the small of the substance of his words. The infantile pleasure of playing with poop is one of life’s many early delights, and one sure to mature into neurosis and perversions if not checked by, say, a healthy interest in working with clay. Psychoanalysts may find much to read into all of the sculptural pieces of shit and fecal matter that dot this exhibition. Freud himself would have stopped for a beard-stroking pause over Robert Arneson’s John Figure: a sculptural toilet all embedded with bodily fragments. Made of stoneware and glazed filthy white, the work, in which a coiling turd figures, completely de-sublimates Freud’s contention that the whish to be clean is inseparable from the desire to be dirty.

    Sex may not be the first thing that comes to mind when one things of Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain, first shown in 1917. A porcelain urinal now enthroned in the permanent collection of the Philadelphia and other museums of art, modernism’s most infamous work of clay sculpture seems the very antithesis of the early, handmade ethos of Dirt on Delight. Except that Duchamp’s cool readymade is never the pure conceptual object it’s generally portended to be. Just look at the artist’s pseudonymous signature “R. Mutt,” scrawled like bathroom graffiti over the face of the shapely vessel, with its feisty little protrusion, to see how dirty-minded a thing it is. To say nothing of the artist’s sense of humor; don’t be hasty to dismiss Duchamp’s role in shaping the work on view. The Dirt on Delight checklist is riddled with titles that pay tribute, however inadvertently, to the master of visual puns, whose great legacy includes plenty of yuks for art. The erotic small sculpture of Kathy Butterly and Ron Nagle, respectively titled Like Butter and Hunter’s Tab, for instance. Clay may even be conducive to piling on the laughs (or smirks) that can kill less resilient works but which are one of the vital signs of the grotesque in art.

    When it comes to clay, surprisingly dirtier than shit are figurines. This class of small-scale sculpture has suffered insult ever since one of the founding figures of art history, Joachim Winckelmann, wondered why on earth Europeans had gone to such trouble to discover for themselves China’s secret for making porcelain when it was for the most part used only to produce “idiotic puppets.” Writing during the heyday of royal porcelain production, he considered the taste for figurines by Secres, Meissen, Nymphenberg – the very patronage of which carried the taint of Porzellankrankeit or “porcelain-disease,” a mania that ruined many an aristocrat’s coffer – to be plebian nevertheless. Winckelmann’s own Neoclassical ideals, popularized by the worthy pottery of Wedgewood, were based on Greek sculpture, which he falsely believed to have been pure white. He thus failed to see the artistry (or delight) in polychrome sculptures of peewee courtiers, miniature monkey musicians and tiny troupes of commedia dell’arte actors. Nor would he probably have been amused by Ann Agee’s contemporary twist on this tradition. Elegant figurines, handmade in multiple, are displayed on a table, like the products of some Rococo cottage industry. Forming a random tableau, they present us with an Arcadia in which butchering a pig is as wholesome and essential as burning a bra.

    Prejudices that persist against the figurine grant paradoxical power to those who dare its terms. Aspects of which are expressed by virtually every one of the artists in this exhibition. In turn, their works suggest some similarly dirty works for sculpture: curio, souvenir, tchotchkes and “little Gramma wares.” The last is how Ron Nagle once referred to the work of Ken Price. Said with all due respect and humor, of course, given that Price’s sculptures – their fetishistic finishes and forms – have granted generations of artists since permission to develop their own work along such lines. The dazzling colors and illustrative technique of Nagle’s sculptures comes directly from the hobbyist’s kit and craft of china-painting on prefab porcelain dishes and little statues. Is there anything more proverbially grandmotherly than that? To tally up the score: diminutive scale, decorative surface, exquisite detail, unabashed sentiment and artisanal craft, these are the terms of the figurine. And if they sound familiar, it’s because feminism has made them a generative means for addressing issues of contemporary life through art for decades. Issues of identity and craft, consumption and class, domesticity and labor, sex and beauty lie at the core of Dirt on Delight, and exhibition as feminist in its political tendencies as figurines are feminine in culture – pretty dirty stuff.

    Feminism takes dirt in stride. Think of some of the movement’s iconic works: Mierle Laderman Ukeles washing the steps of the Wadsworth Atheneum; Mary Kelly pressing her son’s soiled diaper into a Post-Partum Document; Anna Mendieta laying down naked in the earth to create an ephemeral Silhueta in the landscape. Plus what a field day artists had with the cliché of the female body as vessel, pulling things out and sticking things into holes that were theirs only to mess with. That said, Joyce Kozloff is one of the few leading figures to have made clay a primary material for her work: patterned tiles installed as carpets of color map myriad decorative arts traditions. And there are plenty of dishes in The Dinner Party that Judy Chicago threw for women throughout history. In both cases, however, clay is more a surface for painting than a material for sculpting.

    Perhaps it was the machismo of clay that used to keep women at bay. One artist in the show recalls encouraging words, heard as a student during the 1970s, from a professor teaching her class how to throw: he said it was good for the bustline! As a student during the 1980s. Kathy Butterly did not see herself working with clay until she saw Viola Frey demonstrate that a woman could. And though Frey’s über figurine sculptures engage with issues of feminism, she did not actively identify herself with the movement. Nor, generally speaking, have more recent generations wanted to ally themselves with a movement that would seem to situate them in the past or a politics that could limit (or put a stain on) a reading of their work.

    And yet, feminism is the context that came up again and again in conversation with artists during studio visits for Dirt on Delight. Or simply through the objects themselves, for instance, Jessica Jackson Hutchin’s kitchen table bedecked and festooned with papier-mâché and ceramic dishes puts family life and art playfully out there (it was originally shown alongside a video of her baby daughter, grooving in her car seat on a road trip). Or consider Jeffry Mitchell’s ersatz versions of traditional porcelain pieces all pumped up with emblems of gay identity. Chalk it up to a postfeminist era, when male and female artists alike deploy strategies first pioneered by women during the radical 1970s. It’s high time feminists called in their debts.

    Not all that glitters is gold, as any prospector will tell. You have to sift a lot of mud to hit pay dirt. Even then it might just be fool’s gold, or pyrite, as is the case with Sterling Ruby’s sinisterly sexual Pyrite Fourchette. Similarly, Nicole Cherubini’s G-Pot with Rocks is a spectacularly raw-looking vessel festooned in fake jewelry and chains. Indeed, there is a lot of mixing of it up between the crudeness of clay and the exquisiteness of jewels in Dirt on Delight. Readers of the informe might find in this imagery a near literal expression of Bataille’s principle of “sumptuary expenditure.” Mud being excrement, jewels being money, both are pure waste; and depending on what one is into, ecstatic transactions in loss. However if extreme transgression is not your bag, there are other, no less sumptuary takes on sparkles in and on the mud. One that Eartha Kitt, the chanteuse singer of “Santa Baby” (and who just died last Christmas) took as her creed. “I’m a dirt person,” she said, “I trust the dirt. I don’t trust diamonds and gold.”

    Since medieval times, sumptuary laws have been used to regulate consumption and keep folks in their place. In Renaissance Venice, sporting gold or silver threads was forbidden to those outside the aristocracy whose social status was signified as much by their freedom to wear what even those who could afford it could not. In terms of dirt, it’s not so much a question of what is forbidden as what is allowed. Working in clay, artists can build for themselves the treasures, relics, and triumphs that signify power, privilege and wealth. Look at all the iridescent and golden effects, the dazzling colors and rich tones on display in Dirt on Delight. See the royal retinue of chalices, vases and other ornamental plate. And look closely. Jane Irish’s vases, for instance may at first appear to be homespun versions of Secres porcelain-robber baron booty for the bohemian set. Until the decorative painting discloses a homeless person’s cart, a hotel maid scrubbing a toilet, and other less than charming scenes of contemporary life.

    Not always so politically overt, dirt is packed with demonstrations of clay’s incipient power to usurp, or at least mess with establishments. The exhibition itself might be seen to represent a major triumph for contemporary artists, who work irrespectively of the old ruling classifications between find and decorative arts, high and low, artist and folk artist. The work of Eugene Von Bruenchenhein seems relatively obscure; yet this visionary artist is one of the great progenerative figures in Paul Swenbeck’s personal pantheon. It was with their actual proximity in mind that Swenbeck created a whole new series of his figurative mandrake-root sculptures for this installation. Meanwhile, at the bitter root of Von Bruenchenhein’s art was the contention that he and his wife were descended from royalty, so he turned their house into a grotto, stuffed with crowns and other trappings of a lost civilization including the requisite jungle growth, all made of clay.

    Dirt is ground and artists have always covered a vast amount of terrain using clay. Indeed, today’s challenge to think globally is one that artists working in clay have acquiesced to for centuries. The authority of East Asian ceramics – its techniques, traditions and aesthetics – is practically a subtext for Dirt on Delight. This narrative could be dished in detail through individual artists and their learned predilections for Ming, Tang, Momoyama, mingei, celadon, blue and white, crazing, blanc des chines and countless other wares and desired effects that originate outside of the European tradition. It could also be summed up in the many references made by various artists to Chinese scholars’ rocks throughout the exhibition. Adrian Saxe’s raku renditions resemble highly aestheticized piles of shit and push the Japanese principles of wabi-sabi and shibui – of beauty in humble, natural forms and slightly bitter taste – to an extreme. But Asia is just one hemisphere of the clay globe, which lets artists travel virtually every place on earth, and throughout time. Unlike oil paint, for instance, clay’s ubiquity seems to make it the stuff of cultural transcendence. So Betty Woodman’s Winged Figure (Kimonio) draws a fluid line from the drapery of Japanese textiles to Brancusi. A line Arlene Shechet makes a thread of her in her sculptures, win which many spouted vessels sitting atop Constructivist bases, merge afterimages of the modernist studio with the many-armed gestures of Hindu deities. Why choose one’s gods at the exclusion of other when clay admits all?

    The question of taste leads to food. Tell someone “Eat dirt” and best stand back. Unless you are in some “geophagic” part of the world, like certain regions of China, Zimbabwe, and North Carolina, where there’s no insult in eating the local clay, just good nutrition. (A recent dirt-themed dinner held at San Francisco’s New Langton Arts featured a terroir tasting.) Building strong bodies is one of dirt’s mythic properties – Adam and the Golem were both men made of mud. Though the classic metaphor of the “human vessel,” turns stale in contrast to all the “flesh pots” on view. From Beverly Semme’s lumpen pinch pots, cloaked-to-choked in robes of color, to Arlene Shechet’s ashen-toned abstract ceramic lungs, Dirt on Delight is teaming with animate form and visceral clay bodies. Like flesh, clay is largely water. Until it’s cooked in the kiln, the ceramicist’s oven. It’s there that the alchemy of turning dirt into such delights as this exhibition holds ultimately transpires.

    And so does this essay, which took off from the notion of wedging, draw to its conclusion with firing. Imagine the smoke curling up from the incense burning in Von Breunchenhein’s “sensors.” The oil in Saxe’s Aladdinesque lamp is lit. Beatrice Wood’s goblets glow with the radiance of their own iridescent magnificence. And the nostalgie de la boue hangs heavy in the air: it’s complicated funk, this “nostalgia for the mud.” And like the informe, it’s another term from the French useful fro thinking about dirt. To speak of nostalgia of any kind invokes a sentimental longing for something that probably never really existed in the first place. Van Gogh went peasant, Gauguin native, in search of romantically simple lives and imagined communion with the earth. To be wistful for mud, however, seems ill advised, even silly. And yet, nostalgie de la boue is not so easily dismissed, given all that it connotes. “That which is crude, unworthy, degrading”: the dictionary definition leaves it at that. But let’s not leave out the lingering allure of the primitive, the authentic, the native, the natural, the simple, the handmade: the very non-civilized conditions that Freud himself said every civilization longs for in its discontent. (Bohemia was built from this boue). However incorrectly they have been deconstructed and disabused within postmodern culture, the critical power of these conditions remains intact.

    At least where clay is concerned, as the artists in this exhibition show, not through any sentimental longing, but by smartly crafting their work to represent those conditions – both dirty and delightful – that seem increasingly absent or remote from contemporary life. Especially in this moment, as we all face an economy that has been thrown down the crapper buy corporate interests that seem to have run the world into a state of ruin. Dirt has long been the bane and boon of a consumer culture built on entire industries devoted to personal hygiene and cleanliness, industries that simultaneously turn a blind eye to the environment, polluting it to the point of climatic meltdown. Dirt is the antithesis of the virtual and synthetic. It takes but a speck to destroy a disk, a chip, a hard drive – to damage beyond repair the highly polished surface of a Jeff Koons bunny or a Donald Judd Stack. And yet, it is in light of the overproduction of things we don’t need, coupled with the avoidance and denial of the stuff that’s just there, that artists‘ use of clay comes to seem not only prescient but also instructive. Dirt is always an option.

     

  • “Portrait of an Art Dealer.” Introduction to Julien Levy, Memoir of an Art Gallery. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 2003 (reprint of 1977 original), pp. ix-xxi.

    Portrait of an Art Dealer

    From 1931 to 1949, Julien Levy’s New York gallery played an essential role in the shift of the avant-garde from Paris to America. It championed experimental film and photography and served as a venue for artists fleeing Europe and Hitler. It presented the first New York exhibitions of artists such as Henri Cartier-Bresson, Joseph Cornell, Frida Kahlo, Salvador Dalí, Arshile Gorky, Lee Miller, René Magritte, and Dorothea Tanning, all the while promoting a vision of art at its broadest. There were “idea shows” suggested by such critical thinkers as André Breton and Marcel Duchamp, as well as shows about fashion, design, dance, popular culture (Walt Disney and Gracie Allen both showed here), and even music (including a performance by Paul Bowles). In bridging the gap between Gilbert Seldes’s early modern model of the “seven lively arts” and today’s more academic “visual studies,” the activities of the Julien Levy Gallery spark electric. It is also a place to watch as the identity of the art gallery as a commercial institution takes shape, from a near-curiosity shop (books, prints, and lampshades were among the first wares) to a contemporary art gallery: naked, white, and modern. All this history argues for the need to read Levy’s memoirs afresh. But there remains a simpler reason for picking up Memoir of an Art Gallery: Julien Levy tells it as he lived it, with wit and appetite. This is a book that deals in sensual adventure, which is exactly what you hear in Levy’s voice, whether written or spoken.

    The first time I heard Levy speak was in a WABC radio recording, aired on June 11, 1938, and now in the collection of the Museum of Broadcasting. People who knew Julien Levy often speak of his voice, which I listened for and heard twice in the course of researching the exhibition “Julien Levy: Portrait of an Art Gallery.”[footnote=1] Named after the memoirs now being introduced, “Portrait of an Art Gallery” aimed to conjure the dynamism of a transitional period in American art history through the doings of this maverick art dealer. In the WABC broadcast, Levy was defining the art movement with which his name was synonymous: “Sur-RAIL-ism.” Or so he pronounced it, in a voice inflected as much by his upper-middle class New York upbringing, as by his years doing business in Paris, as well as by cigarettes, cocktails, and a sophisticated sense of culture. In short, it was deep, smoky, and a little affected. The next time I heard his voice, it had aged a few decades, and now when Levy said the word, it was as if a train was rumbling right through the middle of it: surrrrrrrRRRAILLLLLLism. He was narrating a short film called Surrealism Is…, in which he also starred. The film was made as a project with students at SUNY Purchase, where, late in his life, Levy had plans—which never came to pass—to establish a Center for Surrealist Studies. The class appears to have been psychedelic in form: hippyish-looking students conducting experiments in creative automatism outdoors in the open fields around Levy’s house, or playing indoors with his collection of Surrealist art and other curiosities.

    Levy presides over the film, a grand wizard imparting his life’s work to a new generation. For that is what his commitment amounted to—much more than just the art of his day, something he sold as part of his job, Surrealism was an avocation to which he was dedicated. You hear it in his recital of the movement’s definitions, poems, and erotic prayers.

    “A little more than green and less than blond,” he intones after Paul Eluard and Benjamin Péret’s 1925 proverbs. “What is Day?,” an indoctrinated student recites from a 1928 dialogue. “A woman bathing nude at nightfall.” You see it in Levy’s surroundings; besides being chock full of art treasures—there are Max Ernst’s collages and frottages, Alberto Giacometti’s sculpture On ne joue plus, and Dali’s painting Accommodations of Desire—the shelves are loaded with the kinds of optical devices, found objects, and natural artifacts through which the uncanny expressed itself every day to properly attuned Surrealists. The movement’s love of games is evinced by a chess board, evocative of the ones made by artists for the gallery’s 1944 exhibition “The Imagery of Chess.” Indeed, Levy liked to imply that where he failed as a businessman, he succeeded as a collector. But this seems too modest an account of the active devotion with which Levy practiced Surrealism during his entire life. “Pop art is a neo-Surrealism,” he concludes toward the end of the film.

    A rakishly elegant man in his youth, Levy in the film appears (and sounds) aged into a regal wreck of the figure described by the dealer James B. Meyers: “Julien Levy reminds me of Antonin Artaud, probably because I had seen a photograph of Julien with a shaved head, which Berenice Abbott had taken years before in Paris. He is intelligent and handsome with a profile rivaling that of the great actor John Barrymore.”[footnote=2] (Note Barrymore’s bad behavior in the memoir to come: he pees on a painting by Max Ernst.) The shaved head also deserves further comment. Levy claimed that he was following a folk wisdom to rejuvenate his scalp by rubbing bear grease into it. He also liked to say that Marcel Duchamp had put him up to it, by saying that shaved heads were quite the thing among the radical chic in Paris in 1928.

    Levy’s devotion to Surrealism was seconded only by what he called his “hero-worshipping” of Duchamp and Alfred Stieglitz, whom he claimed as his godfathers in art. Both men were high priests of early Modernism. Prone to sermonizing and wearing capes, Stieglitz instructed Levy (along with the countless other acolytes who would sit at his feet) to be reverent, especially of photography—then a new medium of dubious aesthetic standing. More profanely, Duchamp inducted the young man into the living pleasures of bohemia when he invited him to tag along on a trip to Paris. On board ship, the two men speculated on the makings of a self-lubricating mechanical woman and discussed plans to shoot a film using Man Ray’s equipment. As told in the memoir, the film was never made, but the trip altered the course of Levy’s life. Both Stieglitz and Duchamp were also artists, dealers, publishers, curators, writers, and lovers of printed matter—all inclinations they passed along to Levy. Besides running a gallery for almost nineteen years, Levy wrote extensively (including a beautiful proto-history of Surrealism in 1936 and monographs on Eugéne Berman and Arshile Gorky)[footnote=3] and helped create exhibitions throughout his life (such as “The Disquieting Muse” at the Contemporary Art Museum in Houston in 1958). All of his own shows were accompanied by brochures that announced not only the exhibition but a high sense of style as well. As an artist, Levy was purely an amateur, but he did make a few short Surrealist-style films in the 1930s, including a romp with Max Ernst set at Caresse Crosby’s mill retreat outside Paris, and exquisite portraits, full of motion, of Mina Loy shopping at the marché aux paces and of Lee Miller.

    Memoir of an Art Gallery proves Julien Levy to be an excellent raconteur as well. He knows the value of exaggeration and elision when it comes to crafting the better story. And this is precisely how the book is constructed—tales of luminaries like James Joyce and Giorgio de Chirico, and incendiary episodes such as “Duchamp’s Kiss” and “Walpurgisnacht Chez Tzara.” Each chapter becomes its own piece in a lapidary account that leaves, as all remembrances do, gaps and fissures. To till in some of these gaps, let’s add a little more family background. Julien Sampson Levy was born in New York on January 22, 1906, the oldest of three, with a brother Edgar (Ned) and sister Elizabeth. His mother, Isabelle Estelle Isaacs, had been orphaned as a child and was raised by an uncle, who would co-found the first English-language newspaper for Jews in America. For generations, the Isaacs had been a prominent Jewish family; Rabbi Samuel M. Isaacs read over Abraham Lincoln’s funeral cortege when it passed through New York. Levy’s father, Edgar, who was also raised in the city, had first studied art before becoming a successful lawyer and real estate entrepreneur. He and his partners, including Isabelle’s cousin Stanley Isaacs (later a borough president of Queens), were among the first to develop luxury apartment buildings along Park Avenue. Later in life, Edgar’s real estate empire would obviously aid his son’s desire to set up shop in Manhattan. Both parents, in fact, seem to have had much to do with Levy’s becoming an art dealer. And though Julien depicts his father as a philistine, the elder Levy collected art and dabbled in painting, and also seems to have had a genuine sympathy for his son’s interest in art. Furthermore, as much as Julien sides against his conventional parent and acts like a bohemian, he never truly rejected Edgar’s bourgeois tastes or values. He was, as most Surrealists were, an armchair radical.

    Julien’s mother doted on her oldest son. When as a boy he contracted rheumatic fever, the family moved to Scarsdale, where Levy attended the progressive Roger Ascham School before enrolling at Harvard University. Harvard, unlike the rest of the Ivy League, admitted Jews; Levy’s mother had attended Harvard’s sister college Radcliffe, where her ties later proved useful in helping her son find his way out of an English major and into the study of art. During the summer of Levy’s freshman year, his mother was run over and killed. According to the local newspaper’s obituaries, “Mrs. Levy, accompanied by a Mr. Jacobson, was walking toward Mamaroneck road when an automobile…bore down upon them, crashing into both. The automobile knocked Mrs. Levy down passing over her.” “As she lingered over her fatal injury, her one concern was the welfare of her husband and children,” another one wrote, “and her sole regret was that they would be deprived of such service and comfort as might have been able to render to them, had she been spared a few years more.” Still a third noted that “Mrs. Levy was a member of the Women’s Club and frequently seen in productions by the Wayside Players and the Fireside Players.”

    Buried in these shards are a woman’s creative aspirations. But what is most glaring is the fact that, however violently it rent through his life, Julien’s mother’s death reads largely as an absence from his memoirs. It’s the absence filled, or at least marked, by the intense attachment Levy formed for his mother-in-law, the poet and painter Mina Loy, whose own glamour and sense of personal drama were part of the mythology of the Paris scene during the 1920s.[footnote=4] The fact that she was the widow of one of Duchamp’s heroes, the Dada poet and boxer Arthur Cravan, who disappeared at sea, only heightened her mystique. More than a muse (and less than a mother), Loy is certainly a complicated figure in Levy’s early life as an art dealer and as a husband to her daughter Joella. During their marriage, Joella efficiently ran the day-to-day operations of the gallery in New York, while Loy (flightily) acted as Levy’s agent in Paris. Nurtured by both, Levy was indulged as a son, lover, boss, partner, and proud father of three sons—until Joella left him in 1937 due to his drinking and philandering. At the time of his death, Levy was reported to have been at work editing the voluminous correspondence he kept up with his mother-in-law throughout the rest of her life.[footnote=5]

    But the story is getting ahead of us. Back at Harvard, after his mother’s death, Levy continued on the path she had set for him, which notably included Paul Sachs’s king-making course for museum professionals, “Museum Work and Museum Problems.” There he met Alfred Barr, Jr., Philip Johnson, and Lincoln Kirstein, all to be affiliated with the Museum of Modern Art, and A. Everett (Chick) Austin, Jr., the future director of the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, among others. Of this institution-bound group, Levy distinguished himself by quitting a semester before graduation in order to try to get a job in the movies (he was besotted with Gloria Swanson). When running errands as a prop boy for Columbia Studios in New York failed to match his aspirations, however, he returned to his initial interest in art. Knocking around the galleries with his father, Levy met Duchamp, who was then acting as Brancusi’s agent. The two formed a friendship, and in February 1927 Levy embarked with Duchamp for Paris on that fateful trip. Returning six months later, he arrived home with his new bride Joella and, among other things, their wedding gift from Brancusi, The Newborn, a bronze head now in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art. Levy’s Paris plunge instilled an ambition to open his own gallery in New York—an ambition that his father agreed to support, provided his son serve a proper apprenticeship. And so from 1928 to 1931, Levy worked as an assistant at the Weyhe Gallery, which specialized in rare books and prints, and where he had his first experience as a dealer, presenting photographs by Eugène Atget.

    On November 2, 1931, Julien Levy opened his own art gallery with tribute to Alfred Stieglitz and American photography. Following that, he went on to present a basically European avant-garde aesthetic and culture, thereby establishing himself as the middleman between artists and collectors, a pioneering purveyor of wares to the Modernist institutions being developed by his former classmates. Throughout the 1930s and 40s, all of the major museums interested in acquiring cutting-edge contemporary art bought from Levy. It is interesting, then, to take note of the prejudices that attach themselves to Levy’s mercantile enterprise. Writing for Vogue, one journalist described him in nearly Fagin-esque terms: “His keen and almost glittering eye, focused on the Parisian scene, may discover this decade’s Cézanne at any moment—a possibility that keeps him and his clients slightly feverish at all times.”[footnote=6] Written in 1938, this statement serves to remind us that the Germans were certainly not alone in their anti-Semitism. Levy, for his part, resented the secondary status accorded dealers within the echelons of the art world, which clearly benefited from their vision and risks.

    Then again, he himself did not always give credit where it was due. One of his gallery’s claims to fame is that in January 1932 it hosted “Surréalisme,” the first exhibition devoted to the movement in New York. This much is true, but it short-shrifts the importance of Chick Austin’s earlier “Newer Super-Realism,” held at the Wadsworth Atheneum, albeit to less public fanfare than Levy’s show, which won a huge New York audience and national press. The two shows ended up being collaborative in that they shared many (though not all) of the same works. But the fact remains that Austin’s show was its own initiative, and by opening on November 15, 1931, it could rightfully claim to be the first exhibition of Surrealism in America.[footnote=7]

    There are several other claims worth tempering. The first is small and involves Levy’s “discovery” of Joseph Cornell. It’s an excellent story about Cornell—and he probably was a most gray young man—stopping by the gallery to look at photographs, only to become, at the behest of the dealer, the first home-grown American Surrealist. What’s missing, however, is any indication of how deliberate and thorough Cornell was in his haunting of New York’s art world. Perhaps Levy, like most of Cornell’s contacts, had no idea how well-connected this most discrete of artists was. If anything, Cornell may have seen in the dealer a potential advocate for his own interests in photography and collage. Indeed, over time, Cornell worked hard to distance himself from his original identification with Surrealism, which he came to see as a form of black magic. (And he seems to have never forgiven Levy for scheduling all of his gallery exhibitions around Christmas time, the better to flog Cornell’s collage objects as toys for adults.)

    Then there’s Levy’s purported rescue of Eugène Atget’s great photographic archive of Paris. Levy slightly glorifies his early investment in and enthusiasm for the work, at the expense of Berenice Abbott’s essential role. An American photographer based in Paris, Abbott physically prevented this vast collection of plate-glass negatives and prints from being pitched in 1928 into the dustbin of history. Long after Levy’s interest had waned, she continued to make it part of her life’s work to care for and promote the archive, finally landing it a place in the Museum of Modern Art, where it exists as the Abbott-Levy Collection, in 1968. Still, to be fair, Abbott was no less proprietary against Levy’s claims, and Cornell’s championship by Levy was absolutely critical to launching his career, so these revisions to Levy’s memoirs have more to do with tone than with fact.

    And who knows if, as a fledgling gallerist, Julien Levy actually invented the gallery press release and the cocktail party opening? No such patents exist. But the dealer’s claims to priority seem worth defending. Levy’s gallery certainly made art openings, which had hitherto been insular affairs for collectors, into public events that anyone could attend simply out of interest in seeing something new. This is one of the greatest pleasures of Memoir of an Art Gallery: its snapshot depictions of a cultural scene in which, it seemed, anything could happen. Between the wars, not only was the art world much smaller, but with the economy in Depression there was considerably less at stake. There were opportunities for experimentation, and openness in general about what culture could be. Pay attention to all that Levy embarks on, either in hopes of making money or achieving fame. Among his freshest schemes were: Swiss Cheese cloth (his plan to print photographs onto utilitarian objects and materials);[footnote=8] the curved gallery wall (his second gallery location featured an undulating wall upon which works of art seemed to unfurl as viewers moved by them); the gallery caravan (in 1941, Levy took his stock on the road to San Francisco, then Los Angeles, in hopes of drumming up West Coast collectors); Salvador Dalí’s “Dream of Venus” (a Surrealist funhouse for the 1939 World’s Fair); and “The Carnival of Venice” (the gallery’s 1933 exhibition of photographs by Max Ewing of celebrities, socialites, and friends aping in front of a painted Venetian backdrop—Warholian photo-booth-ography thirty years before Pop!).

    On a much darker note, throughout the gallery’s history there are the undercurrents of accident, alcohol, guilt, and depression that appear twisted into this memoir’s silences. Most tragically, in recounting Arshile Gorky’s suicide, Levy isn’t altogether clear that it occurred only a month after he had injured them both in a car crash in which Gorky’s neck and painting arm were both broken. Levy recounts the episode like a cineaste’s dream, starting with chickens and brakes squawking, and ending with the closing of the Julien Levy Gallery in 1949, a year after Gorky’s death. Here, as in some other places, Levy’s account seems too pat, too remote, to convey the true shades of personal memory. It also downplays the downspin of his business, which had been growing steadily out of touch with the latest advancements in art. Uninterested in Abstract Expressionism, Levy stood by Surrealism, to be eclipsed by dealers who maintained more current visions: Pierre Matisse, Sidney Janis, and Betty Parsons among them. But such is the case with good story telling and storytellers—they invite further unraveling.

    First published in 1977, Memoir of an Art Gallery closes with Gorky’s last words, echoed here by Levy in tribute to the history of his gallery: “Good-bye my ‘loveds’.” However, the story hardly ends here. Levy’s 1944 marriage to his second wife, the sculptor Muriel Streeter, ended in divorce. On January 20, 1957, in Bridgewater, Levy married Jean Farley McLaughlin, to whom he dedicated this book, and who remains devoted to preserving her husband’s memory. Until he died in 1981, at the age of seventy-five, Levy remained an engaged emissary of Surrealism. In his later years, he cultivated a Stieglitz-like habit of wearing capes. No doubt he cut a daunting silhouette on his regular visits to New York, where he kept up with contemporary art (he saw Surrealism in the work of artists as diverse as Joseph Beuys and Tom Wesselman) and collaborated with his fellow dealers (including Richard Feigen and Leo Castelli) to show and sell work from his collection. In the late 1970s, Levy was introduced to curator David Travis of the Art Institute of Chicago. Apparently, when the gallery closed Levy had a lot of leftover photography inventory, notably hundreds of works by Jacques-André Boiffard, Lee Miller, Robert Parry, Man Ray, Maurice Tabard, and others. Forty years later, these prints emerged from storage to constitute a virtual missing history—occluded from both photography and Modernism—of Surrealist photography. During Levy’s lifetime, a large number of works were acquired by the AIC to form the Julien Levy Collection. More recently, in 2001, the Philadelphia Museum of Art acquired through gifts by Levy’s widow and Lynne and Harold Honickman all of the remaining photographs from Levy’s estate to establish the Julien Levy Collection of Photographs.

    What became of other effects of the gallery’s history? Key elements found their way to private and public collections: Cornell’s L’Egypte de Mlle Cléo de Mérode cours élémentaire d’histoire naturelle to the Robert Lehrman Collection, Washington, D.C.; Max Ernst’s Vox Angelica to the Daniel Filpacchi Collection, Paris; Dalí’s Persistence of Memory to The Museum of Modern Art, New York; Giacometti’s On ne joue plus to the Nasher Sculpture Center, Dallas; Gorky’s New Hope Road to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Frida Kahlo’s Self-Portrait Dedicated to Trotsky to the National Museum of Women in the Arts, Washington, D.C.; Pavel Tchelitchew’s Phenomenon to the Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow; Dorothea Tanning’s Guardian Angels to the New Orleans Museum of Art, and so forth out into the world.[footnote=9]

    And what of the papers? In compiling his memoirs, Levy gathered his archives around him, including brochures, reviews, and other related ephemera, to work in a small writing studio on his Connecticut property. It’s unclear how the fire began, but much of the material was destroyed either by flames or water. Whatever could be swept up was saved in a storage area attached to the house, and considered basically inaccessible due to its poor condition. This is not to say that all was lost, and indeed, recent efforts to process what does remain have turned up some astounding stuff. By way of example, let me end with my own story. Last year, I was working on a book about Salvador Dalí’s “Dream of Venus” pavilion, a story in which Levy naturally plays a leading role. I had all but completed my research when the treasures started emerging from the nooks and crannies of Jean and Julien’s house. They included such things as a gramophone record called Dream of Venus (labeled as a recitation by actress Ruth Ford and an accompanying chorus for the World’s Fair), a typed manuscript for the same (“Behold! I am Venus! I am the most beautiful woman in the world!”), a list of rejected names for the concession (“Dalí Trance Forms” and “Dalí’s Wet Dreams” among the lamest), and, most astonishingly, photographs of a strange studio session that involved dressing live models in dead seafood for an unrealized photo-mural. And it didn’t all offer itself at once, but as if summoned piece-by-piece, just in time to fuel the narrative I was in the process of constructing.

    You might call this surreal and leave it at that: Julien himself evidently cherished such coincidences. The real point is that much remains to be known and written about Julien Levy, about his life, his work, his influence as an important American art dealer, and his far-reaching, often arcane interests. His memoirs only begin to tell the tales.

     

  • “Mr Expanding Universe: Isamu Noguchi’s Affiliations across the New York Art World(s) of the 1930s” Isamu Noguchi: Sculptural Design, co-author Donna Ghelerter. Germany: Vitra Design Museum, 2002, pp. 66-106.

    Mr Expanding Universe: Isamu Noguchi’s Affiliations across the New York Art World(s) of the 1930s

     

    Isamu Noguchi’s reputation as a master modernist lies largely (and squarely) on his achievements as a sculptor who created abstractions in stone and wood during the mid-to-late twentieth century. Noguchi is also well known for having designed emblematic objects of the twentieth-century decorative arts. Starting in the late 1920s, when Noguchi began his career, his ideas of the artist’s role exceeded the prescribed parameters. This exhibition validates Noguchi as a visionary. Determined to shape every aspect of life, from dishware to public parks. It also raises the question: where does this encompassing perspective originate in the development of his art? The answers to this can be found in a period that Noguchi himself later reflected upon as containing the “uncertainties of the 1930s.”[footnote=1]

    Returning to New York at the age of 25, having just left Paris and his apprenticeship with Constantin Brancusi, Noguchi settled himself into the New York art world. “It became self-evident to me that in so-called abstraction lay the expression of the age and that I was especially fitted to be one of its prophets.”[footnote=2] Noguchi’s prophesies of the 1930s take the form of Brancusi-inspired pieces on marble bases; large drawings using traditional Chinese brushwork; an architectural mural influenced by Mexican socialist artists; stage sets for dance, and proposals for public works. His materials were stone, wood, cement, bronze, iron, zinc, stainless steel, terracotta, magnesite, marble, sheet metal and plaster. He was exhibiting regularly and garnering critical acclaim. Despite the attention, the reaction to Noguchi’s far-reaching approach to sculpture was uneven.

    Of course the 1930s were a period of uncertainty not only for Noguchi but for the world at large. An attempt was made to lessen the effects of the Depression on artists’ lives with the creation in 1933 of the PWAP (Public Works of Art Projects), later known at the WPA (Works Progress Administration). This government-sponsored relief project for artists provided them with a regular salary in exchange for making works to be located all over America. While numerous artists benefited from the programme, Noguchi’s involvement was unsuccessful. His multifaceted approach was ill-suited for creating art that had to conform to governmental guidelines. He fell through the national safety net at a time when art galleried were also unable to provide artists with their conventional means of support. Noguchi was in need of devising his own source of income. To solve his economic problems, he began sculpting portrait heads: “There was nothing to do but make heads. It was a matter of eating, and this was the only way I knew of making money.”[footnote=3]

    Noguchi made his first portrait head in 1925, but it was upon his return to New York in 1929 that he sculpted commissioned portraits. Throughout the 1930s, the portraits appear to have constituted his primary, or at least most reliable, source of income. Almost life-size, these heads present various modes of representation. While such portraits were relatively conventional for a sculptor drawn to the abstract, they none the less allowed Noguchi a chance to experiment with forms and materials. As one contemporary reviewer observed: “His portraits, which are invariably distinctive of his personality and style, are also likenesses and achieve an air of sophisticated modernism. This is arrived at … by emphasizing the sitters’ salient characteristics and by using such materials as seem symbolic or suggestive of their personality.”[footnote=4] Among the many personalities who sat for Noguchi were Clare Boothe Luce, then working for Vogue and Vanity Fair before she became a playwright and politician; Mexican muralist José Clemente Orozco; mime Agna Enters; waitress Ruth Parks, composer George Gershwin; art dealer J.B. Neumann; the Museum of Modern Art’s first president A. Conger Goodyear; architect Ely Jacques Kahn; Hollywood actress Ginger Rogers, and stage actress Helena Gahagan Douglas, once hailed as “ten of the twelve most beautiful women in America” and later a member of the United States Congress.[footnote=5] This body of work was treated in full by the exhibition Isamu Noguchi, Portrait Sculpture, held at the National Portrait Gallery in 1989. In the invaluable catalogue, curator Nancy Grove provides an art history of the portraits and profiles of their subjects. We have selected from these fascinating figures a group that intersected in Noguchi’s life within an expanded environment of 1930s New York culture. There one finds the points of origin for Noguchi’s creative potential. In this world of artists, dancers, architects, gallery owners fashion designers, we start with Julien Levy, the pre-eminent dealer for advanced contemporary art.

    A child of privilege, Julien Levy (1906-81) was part of the generation known as the Harvard Moderns, who attended college together before embarking on careers that would essentially institutionalize Modernism in America.[footnote=6] Just two years older, Noguchi’s background was worlds away from Levy’s. Growing up estranged from his father, the renowned poet Yone Noguchi, Isamu lived with his American mother in Japan until he was sent to America at the age of fourteen. He cobbled together an education, studying medicine before enrolling at the Leonardo da Vinci Art School in New York. Despite these differences, Noguchi’s and Levy’s lives intertwined to a remarkable degree. Both went to Paris in 1927, where they met the writer Robert McAlmon and were inducted into the same circles. McAlmon allegedly introduced Levy to his wife Joella Lloyd, daughter of the poet Mina Loy, whose friend Constantin Brancusi presented the newly-weds with Le Nouveau Né, a bronze sculpture head of an infant.[footnote=7] It was in the artist’s studio that Levy recalls meeting Noguchi: “Brancusi wears a smock and has a white beard and a white dog, and any stranger is shortly rendered indistinguishable by the white dust that falls over him. Noguchi was happy to work there, polishing and cutting stones and listening to Brancusi talk, learning about materials and about form.”[footnote=8] (The lives of Levy and Noguchi share some racier episodes; in his autobiography, Levy recounts a tour he conducted at the behest of Clare Boothe Luce, with Noguchi in tow, of the Paris brothel Le Sphinx.[footnote=9] Both men had affairs with Frida Kahlo – Levy a brief dalliance in New York, Noguchi a love affair that raged in Mexico until it outraged Kahlo’s husband, the muralist Diego Rivera.)

    Levy opened his art gallery in 1931 to promote experimental film and European photography. By 1932, the gallery had presented the first exhibition of Surrealism in New York, codified the ritual of the opening night cocktail party, and become known as the place to see something new. There were premiere exhibitions of photographs by Henri Cartier Bresson and Man Ray; collage films and objects by Joseph Cornell; “snapshots of the mind”, as Salvador Dalí called his early paintings; Alexander Calder’s mobiles; modern day ex-votos by Frida Kahlo; Surrealist paintings by René Magritte; proto-Abstract Expressionist works by Arshile Gorky; plans and models for fantasy architecture by Emilio Terry, even cartoon cels by Walt Disney. This diverse programme was unusually brilliant in its vision, but not in its eclectic embrace. Levy’s gallery was a microcosm of the art world of its day, an art world in which creative people working in all media mingled freely, irrespective of the boundaries that have come to separate them since. An exhibition of paintings by the Neo-Romantic Eugene Berman was illuminated with lamps by the industrial designer Russel Wright. Artists’ sets and costumes for the newly founded American Balley Theater were shown accompanied by the music that was scored for them, including one piece by the writer/composer Paul Bowles. As a phenomenon of the 1930s. this expansive approach to culture suited the restrictive economic conditions. With little money to go around, artists could afford to let their egos relax, pool their efforts, and work as many angles as possible.

    The entrepreneurial Levy had several ploys to earn income for the photographers he represented, including brokering portrait commissions. “It was one of my many ventures – I just tried to hit photography from as many angles as I could think of. Including applied photography. I tried some photographic textiles…”[footnote=10] The portrait venture was well in keeping with the means by which many of Levy’s artists had already reconciled their Modernist ambitions to the exigencies of earning a living. The expatriate Man Ray had a handsome income throughout the 1920s and 1930s as a fashion and portrait photographer. He applied the same compositions and radical techniques – the photogram, solarisation and double exposure – that characterised his most purely experimental works. The sculptor Alexander Calder drew portraits in wire, often on commission. Fleshed out by shadow and space, these directly anticipate the artist’s most important works, the kinetic sculptures that Marcel Duchamp dubbed “mobiles”.[footnote=3] As with Noguchi, the artistic conventions – and, when the work was a commission, the economic incentive – of making portraiture supported and advanced these artists’ respective innovations. Also like Noguchi, their bodies of work portray the larger contexts of the art world and society in which these makers moved.

    Levy showed another Modernist-cum-portraitist, whose life and work overlapped with Noguchi’s, the photographer Berenice Abbott (1898-1991). Man Ray’s assistant in Paris, Abbott had been well trained. When she left him, she opened a rival portrait studio. It was in Paris that Abbott met Noguchi, though he did not sculpt her head until 1929, when they were both back in New York.[footnote=12] Cast in bronze, light nervously pattering over its surface, Abbott’s portrait shows her boyishly bobbed hair massed to a point on her forehead and focuses her being into a pair of eyes that view the world wide open. Documenting the many aspects of the city – its buildings, people and strange empty spaces – is the crux of Abbott’s art, as exemplified by her celebrated work, Changing New York, the urban portrait she created as an employee of the WPA. As a financial sideline, she took pictures of other artists’ works and of gallery installations.[footnote=13] Abbott’s photograph of Noguchi’s 1934 sculpture Death (Lynched Figure) is a complete visual document: it records the image and conveys its impact. From the angle and lighting of this shot, one immediately appreciates the contemporary critic’s disturbed reaction: “If there is anything to make a white man feel squirmy about his color, he has it in this gnarled chromium victim jigging under the wind-swayed rope.”[footnote=14]

    The unnamed critic writing about Noguchi’s 1935 exhibition at the Marie Harriman gallery for the left-leaning journal Parnassus was exceptionally full of praise for this work when it was shown alongside the admirable portrait heads, three models for the public sculptures and some brush drawings. He or she concluded: “But it is when he goes in for sociological ideas that Noguchi seems the freest.” According to the artist, Death was made after a photograph he saw reproduced in the International Labor Defense, and intended to be shown alongside Birth, a work he modeled from life, after watching a woman at Bellevue Hospital endure the agonies of labor.[footnote=15] Objecting to the depiction, Harriman excised this white marble sculpture from the installation, though she permitted Noguchi to show the lynched man. The exhibition was extensively reviewed and, unlike the Parnassus writer, most critics agreed that Noguchi should stick with portraiture. Arch-intellect Henry McBride put it most nastily: he deemed Death “just a little Japanese mistake”. These words were still ringing when, in his 1968 autobiography, Noguchi declared his conviction to seek acceptance for his work outside the conventional art world. “That settled it!” he wrote, after quoting McBride’s review at length, “I determined to have no further truck with either galleries or critics.”[footnote=16]

    Julien Levy had not yet opened his art gallery in 1929 when Noguchi sculpted his head in bronze. He never gave Noguchi a solo show, even though he apparently respected his work; perhaps he found his relationships with other dealers too polygamous. Noguchi’s habit of showing around New York certainly raised eyebrows in the press. Following simultaneous exhibitions at the John Becker and Demotte galleries, a review of Noguchi’s December 1932 show at the Reinhardt Galleries begins: “As if two exhibitions in a single season were not enough to satisfy any artist, Isamu Noguchi displays yet another segment of his talents before the turn of the year.” The reviewer goes on to note “the strange and floating Miss Expanding Universe that has been dangling conspicuously in Julien Levy’s front window this winter.”[footnote=17] The following month, Julien Levy’s beautifully illustrated six-page monographic essay on Noguchi’s work, the first ever published, appeared as the cover story in Creative Art. In it, Levy attributes a “bi-polarity” to Noguchi’s work: “He is always attempting a nice balance between the abstract and the concrete, the relating of fact to meaning, while specifically he exercises a vigorous interpretation of oriental and western aims.”[footnote=18] Levy accounts for Noguchi’s catholic tastes and diverse talents as a search for a singular style. He strongly encourages the artist to follow in the direction of the portrait heads, which he applauds for “applying the formal elements of sculpture to enhance the psychological implications of a portrait” to such a successful degree that “if the portraits were featureless, there should still remain a sort of impression of the subject.”[footnote=19] By contrast, he warns Noguchi against his proclivity for the purely abstract; Levy called the latest large-scale figures in aluminum, including Miss Expanding Universe, “only half-realized, amorphous”. (Here one can detect why Levy hesitated to represent Noguchi fully at his gallery.) The essay concludes: “At first glance, Noguchi appears to have lost connection with the logical continuity of his past progress, but one cannot predict toward what end this tangent may lead.”[footnote=20]

    The Noguchi feature had repercussions over several issues. In March, Creative Art ran a notice to identify the photographer whose pictures “aroused so much favorable comment” as F. S. Lincoln, Massachusetts Institute of Technology=trained biologist and mechanical engineer. His talents as an art photographer were discovered by Buckminster Fuller, when Lincoln, seeing one of his exhibits, offered to make photographs of it as speculation in publicity.[footnote=21] In May a heated round of lengthy letters between Robert Josephy, a designer, and Julien Levy was published. Josephy admonished Levy for his use of the term “style” and admired Noguchi’s attempts to be true to himself: “and if at twenty-eight he has not yet done his masterpieces, there is still no need for him to embrace any such rationalization of artistic sterility.”[footnote=22] Levy defended his position. Josephy rebutted. Levy let his case rest. But the essay and exchange marked Isamu Noguchi as a controversial Modernist, even within the informed art press.

    As Levy confided after seeing Noguchi’s ceramic vases: “one sometimes wishes [Noguchi] would forego some of his more ambitious projects and give us more of these comparative ‘trifles.’”[footnote=23] Levy’s final presentation of Noguchi’s work is perhaps the most significant – though the objects themselves might be considered mere “trifles”. The occasion was The Imagery of Chess, a group show held in 1944 that featured artist-designed chess tables and chess sets. The announcement card was by Dadaist Marcel Duchamp who, as one reviewer described, had “stopped painting when he took up chess and is now one of the leading spirits in the ‘art applied to chess’ movement.”[footnote=24] During the show, Duchamp refereed the event that matched the world champions of blindfolded chess in simultaneous games against players who included the artist Max Ernst and The Museum of Modern Art Director, Alfred Barr, Jr. The sets were more-or-less functional – the Surrealists André Breton and Nicholas Calas submitted a board covered with drinking glasses filled with red and white wine, permitting captors to drink the sweet taste of victory, literally. More pragmatic, Noguchi’s contribution was singled out in Newsweek for being functional and well in keeping with his work as a whole: “The sculptor Noguchi, who is a modernist but no surrealist and has designed playgrounds as well as the panel over the door in Rockefeller Center, created the most beautiful piece in the show – a black plywood chess table of curved design with quarter-size pieces of inlaid plastic to indicate alternate play squares. This table, which would also be nice for tea, can be raised or lowered and the top opens out revealing a pocket to hold the chessmen. Noguchi’s men are angular abstractions of red and green plastic (acetate).”[footnote=25]

    Following the reviewer’s advice, the table went into commercial production: from 1947 to 1949 it was manufactured by Herman Miller. One promotional picture shows it against a bamboo backdrop set for cocktails with a Japanese-inspired arrangement and a sake bottle. Another shows it being used as a sewing table, with skeins of yarn, buttons and pins displayed in the partially opened pockets. The plastic chessmen were not manufactured.

    By this mid-century point, Noguchi was no longer interested in making portrait heads. He had developed his work along lines in which figurative representation, as a form of naturalism, was irrelevant. His decorative arts sensibility had become assimilated into a body of work that included affordable, industrially produced furniture. These provided him with a source of income in true with the vision of his mature art.

    During the 1930s, Noguchi considered his most successful resolution regarding the problems of space and sculpture – problems that essentially had to do with issues of interaction and movement – to be his theatre sets, especially the 21 sets he produced for the modern dancer, Martha Graham (1894-1991). Prior to 1935 Graham had not used sets; Noguchi’s design for Frontier was the first ever to appear in her work. Their collaborations continued until 1966. Noguchi and Graham met in the late 1920s when his mother made costumes; his sister would later dance with the company. In 1929, Noguchi made two portrait heads of Graham. The first she rejected, although the artist always preferred it over the second version.[footnote=26]

    Another portrait subject from the New York world of dance offers an opportunity to explore issues of Noguchi’s identity as they came to bear on the reception of his work during the 1930s and informed one of the most extreme passages in his career. Michio Ito (1892-1967) was a Japanese modern dancer who had trained in Germany. He lived in London, where he starred in At the Hawk’s Well, a play by William Butler Yeats styled after classical Japanese Noh drama. Ito himself was deeply inspired by Egyptian art; his unique dance style was based on definite, almost frieze-like motions. He kept his face still, his features frozen, while he performed. Former student Helen Caldwell recounted: “It was his desire, he said, to bring together East and West in a style of his own. Like a sculptor he worked over every gesture until it meant what he would have it mean. ‘If you cry “Stop!”’ he explained, ‘in any place in my dance, you will find that it is a pose that means something.’”[footnote=27] No wonder Noguchi responded as he did: unlike any of the other heads, Noguchi’s depiction of Michio Ito takes the form of a bronze mask.

    Noguchi sculpted the bronze portrait around the time he had his first foray into theatre, making papier-mâché masks for Ito’s 1926 production of At the Hawk’s Well. Ito had moved to New York in 1916, where he established himself as a leading figure in dance: Agna Enter danced in his Pinwheel Revue in 1922; Martha Graham in his Garden of Kama in 1923. When he moved to Los Angeles in 1929, he played to packed audiences. In 1930, “Michio Ito and his ballet were given a veritable ovation by a crowd that overflowed the [Hollywood] Bowl and filled every standing space on the hillside”.[footnote=28] Ito’s popularity did not prevent him from being interned, along with the rest of the Japanese living on the West Coast, following the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor. He returned to Tokyo in 1942.

    As a Japanese-American, Noguchi’s art was never beyond being discussed on racial grounds. Virtually every early review, including Levy’s essay, takes on the artist’s identity as a main subject and/or impetus for his work. Noguchi himself was keenly interested in Asian art and traditions, and cultivated Eastern principles in his work. In 1930, he travelled to China, where he studied brush drawing for eight months; in 1931 he spent seven months in Japan, attempting to renew his relationship with his father, while studying haniwa and Zen gardens and working in ceramics. (He was no doubt attracted to Michio Ito’s dance because of its explicit references to Kabuki and Noh theatre, the latter traditionally performed in mask.) All of these experiences impacted directly on his work. What is objectionable, however, is how broadly Noguchi’s interpreters read his work through his Asian background as opposed to the language of the forms themselves. Attributing the success of a portrait to an artist’s “racial kinship” with his Japanese model is simply racist.[footnote=29] The fact that Noguchi was part-American only increased speculation. A critic wrote of the artist having “that uncanny intuitive quality and delicacy of perception that sometimes seems to come with a mingling of racial strains”.[footnote=30] Again, a quotation from Henry McBride exemplifies the xenophobia that seemed to be part of America’s everyday discourse. Not sure what to make of a talent that presents itself in two exhibitions at once, McBride theorises: “Being essentially Eastern, [Noguchi] may eventually arrive at profundity through this virtuosity of his. We must give him the benefit of that surmise. But if he were Western, on the contrary, we should agree that he could never surmount so much cleverness to arrive at sincerity.”[footnote=31]

    Noguchi spent seven months in 1942 in an internment camp located on an Indian reservation in Poston Arizona. He says that he went to the camp voluntarily, though one wonders why anyone would willingly forfeit his freedom to live under detention. Perhaps he was determined to make the best of what he saw as an inevitable situation. Having been for so many years the subject of press comments that openly alienated him, Noguchi would have been keenly aware of the vulnerability of his status. When the attack on Pearl Harbor occurred on 7 December 1941, Noguchi was staying in Hollywood, having driven out west with Arshile Gorky that summer. He seems to have been actively looking for some kind of patriotic service to perform. In a letter dated 21 October 1941, for example, Clare Boothe Luce advises him to get in touch with a friend in Washington, D.C., who is “looking for someone who could make shortwave broadcasts in Japanese. It seemed to me (knowing where you stood about the horrible war) that you were the person.”[footnote=32] When this and other prospects failed to materialise, Noguchi decided to go to Poston with the intention of improvising living conditions in the camp. His plans included gardens, recreation areas, even a cemetery.
    He had several unrealised public proposals from the 1930s to draw on. From 1933 alone, there was the proto land-work, Monument to the Plow, a pyramid of earth, one mile wide at its base, to be located in Idaho at the geographic centre of the United States, and Play Mountain, the size of a New York city block, a sculpture landscape for sledding, water sliding, and climbing. More recently, on a trip to Hawaii in 1939 to specify a sculpture project for the office lobby of a pineapple company, Noguchi had also, at the behest of the Honolulu parks commissioner, come up with models for playground equipment. Neither of the Hawaiian projects were realised, and nor was Noguchi’s plan for Poston – apparently life in an internment camp was not a subject for improvement.

    Noguchi’s mail from the seven months he spent at the camp is eerily studio business as usual.[footnote=30] There is an order for a piece of pink marble for the portrait Ginger Rogers had commissioned while he was in California. The collector Edward James responds to a request from Noguchi who was hoping to include his portrait head of James in in a forthcoming exhibition at the San Francisco Museum of Art. James had been chasing the apple blossom season up the coast of California and apologises for not getting the letter in time, but he advises Noguchi to obtain photographs of the portrait from Man Ray and send them to a curator at The Museum of Modern Art who, James feels sure, will want to include it in a proposed exhibition. There is a correspondence regarding an exhibition in Cambridge, Massachusetts, organised by the Quakers, of work by Japanese artists in internment camps; the writer looks forward to receiving Noguchi’s contribution.

    When Noguchi first showed his proposals for public works of art in 1935, they were accompanied by his statement that “sculpture can be a vital force in man’s daily life if projected into communal usefulness”.[footnote=34] As Poston, after it became clear that he was not going to be given the opportunity to make such a sculpture, he says he simply took a leave of absence from the camp one day and never returned. Back in New York, his proposal for a war monument stands as a twisted counterpart to a playground model he made just prior to his detention. Contoured Playground of 1941 is an optimistic answer to the city’s call for equipment with no dangerous edges. This Tortured Earth of 1943 is also a contoured landscape, this time sculpted by bombs and other equipment of war. As an image of psychic landscape it is a bleak view. In the light of this, the public monuments and parks that Noguchi did go on to realise appear all the more impressive, their mission of communal usefulness so long in waiting.

    In the course of the development of Noguchi’s political consciousness, he crossed paths with American fashion designer Elizabeth Hawes (1903-71). Innovative and rebellious, Hawes changed her course in life many times, from couturier to social activist. Noguchi sculpted a portrait head of her in the early 1930s when she was an observant young woman intent on changing the system.[footnote=35] Hawes worked determinedly to reroute the origin of styles worn by Americans, who typically favoured Paris for their views on fashion. Her efforts paralleled those of other Modernists who were making New York the new centre of international culture. Today Elizabeth Hawes is remembered primarily by historians who become intrigued with her clothes, the people who wore them and the fascinating life their creator led until she died, destitute, at the Chelsea Hotel.[footnote=36]

    In 1928, Elizabeth Hawes, aged 25, established her first couture clothing business in New York City. It was a time when the mere concept of American fashion was untenable to most participants in this exclusive world. While Hawes focused on fashion in the 1930s, it was always from a broad spectrum encompassing many aspects of the arts as well as the social issues of her day. The name Hawes gave to the clothes in each new collection reflect her interests, concerns and sense of humour: “Prosperity is Just Around the Corner” afternoon dress (1933); “Diego Rivera” crepe skirt and chenille blouse (1933); “Alimony” evening dress (1937); and “Beautiful Soup” tea gown (1938). That Hawes seemed so unconventional to the conservative fashion industry is no surprise, nor is the fact that her ideas found appeal with many artists of the period who became her friends, lovers and collaborators.

    The wave of young talent going to Paris in the 1920s included both Noguchi and Hawes. Arriving in 1925, Hawes held a variety of jobs in fashion, including reporting back to the United States on the latest Parisian styles. For the newly founded New Yorker magazine she contributed communiqués under the pen name Parisite. In 1928, with the help of Mainbocher, then the Paris editor of Vogue, Hawes designed clothes at the atelier of Nicole Groult, Paul Poiret’s sister. Following Noguchi’s arrival in Paris in 1927, he became an apprentice in the studio of Constantin Brancusi by way of an introduction from the writer Robert McAlmon. For both, working in Paris was an interlude. In 1929 the Guggenheim Fellowship that had financed Noguchi’s travels came to an end, and he had to return to New York. For Hawes it was a well thought-out decision to establish herself in New York as one of the first American couturiers.

    The showroom she created in 1930 was fresh and lively. Utilising the talents of friends including Alexander Calder,[footnote=38] Noguchi and the architect Willy Muschenheim, she created an interior for Hawes, Inc. that was unlike any other clothing establishment in New York City at that time. Calder contributed a wire fish bowl and a reclining chair; there was a scroll by Noguchi, and aluminum tables by Robert Josephy (who championed Noguchi to the readers of Creative Art). Wire soda-fountain chairs and re-upholstered second-hand furniture completed the look. The atmosphere at Hawes, Inc. was salon-like, with a deliberate overlapping of New York circles. For the socialites, actresses and other women of means who could afford to buy Hawes’s custom-made clothing (or have their heads sculpted by Noguchi), viewing her dresses in this unexpected environment was certainly a novelty and in marked contrast to the classic luxury of Parisian couture houses.[footnote=39]

    What made Hawes’s establishment even more unconventional were the events that she staged when showing each new collection: “Usually we break the show in the middle with some sort of oddity.”[footnote=40] There was a performance of Calder’s Circus (perhaps Noguchi assisted Calder with the gramophone, as he did on occasion). In 1933 a short film, The Panther Woman of the Needle Trades, was shown. Directed by photographer Ralph Steiner,[footnote=41] the film featured Elizabeth Hawes dramatising the development of her creative life. In 1937, the divertissement was a riotous showing of men’s fashions by Hawes. These clothes, a significant leap from then current styles, tested the sartorial limits of her male friends who modeled them. One, an advertising salesman, wore “sailor pants, laced in back, made of light weight, fine wale corduroy, and a sweat shirt of striped upholstery linen.”[footnote=42]

    Hawes was always eager to travel, and in 1935 she planned a trip: “Like many another questing soul, I wanted to go to the Soviet Union.”[footnote=43] Curious about socialism and wanting to see behind the scenes, Hawes arranged for a showing of her clothes at the Soviet Dress Trust: “I was fascinated with looking at a bit of the beginning of something and they were fascinated with looking at my most elaborate and capitalistic clothes.”[footnote=44] Five years later, following the closing of Hawes, Inc. in 1940, Hawes’s political beliefs become enmeshed with her work. Subsequent jobs included reporting for the leftist magazine PM, grinding screws at an aeronautical plant, and writing for the Detroit Free Press and the United Auto Workers. In 1936, Noguchi, too, desired to see another way of life, particularly a place where artists worked with more freedom than he felt was available to him in New York City. He left for Mexico and spent eight months executing a mural, History Mexico, at the Abelardo Rodriguez Market in Mexico City. Noguchi’s interests in the social and political implications of art led to the rejection of many of his projects by both critics and bureaucrats. One project that was realised was a plaque for the Associated Press building at the Rockefeller Center, New York City. Rendered in a social realist style, the cast stainless steel relief depicts a photographer, a journalist and phone, wirephoto and teletype operators as tireless workers.
    The wooden portrait of Eleanor Lambert (b. 1903), made by Noguchi in 1932, sits today in the foyer of her New York apartment.[footnote=45] Eleanor Lambert is well known for her work as a publicist in the fashion industry, which she began to concentrate on in the 1940s after an earlier period spent handling publicity for art galleries. Her gallery clients, whom she charged $10 per week, included the Wildenstein, Knoedler and Perls galleries, as well as the Marie Sterner Gallery which in 1930 put on the first exhibition of Noguchi’s portrait heads. For an additional fee, Lambert also offered to promote the individual artists. Sympathetic to the financial constraints, she sometimes worked for payment in kind, trading her services for their art. Noguchi was among those who benefited from Lambert’s professional talents and connections for little or no fee; his portrait of her, however, was a commission for which she paid him $150. Admiring the talents of this curly-haired and determined artist, as Lambert today remembers Noguchi in the 1930s, she recommended him to friends – in this way, he came to sculpt Clare Boothe Luce, Suzanne Ziegler and others.

    For Noguchi to have a publicist working on his behalf in the early years of his career provided alternative means of visibility. During this period he had obtained recognition from New York art galleries, but he found the context limiting. As publicist for the newly founded Whitney Museum of American Art, Lambert was involved with the Public Works of Art Project (PWAP), which was headed by the museum’s director Juliana Force. For Noguchi the government programme supplied financial support and allowed him to pursue his views of sculpture as an element of society. Lambert recalls her participation in working with Force to help Noguchi obtain a PWAP grant.[footnote=46] But in exchange Noguchi was unwilling to produce free-standing sculptures, his ideas being far more inspired and monumental. He proposed Play Mountain to be realised as a playground in New York City. But this, and other ideas such as a “ground sculpture covering the entire triangle in front of Newark Airport, to be seen from the air”, were all rejected.[footnote=47] To Noguchi this denied opportunity was an affront that stayed with him throughout his life. He stated decades later: “It was true that I could make some money doing heads even then at the depth of the Depression, but it was not what I wanted to do.”[footnote=48]

    While as an artist Noguchi was in some conflict about portrait sculpture, he did acknowledge that it was “A very good way of getting to know people. Thus it was that I made long-lasting friendships, in particular with Martha Graham and Buckminster Fuller.”[footnote=49] Noguchi and Fuller (1895-1983) met in 1929 at Romany Marie’s, a bohemian café in New York City’s Greenwich Village. Fuller considered Noguchi’s portrait of him, done that same year, as a cohesive act: “he said, could he make a head of me? and I said I’d be glad to have him do it. So posing for him day after day gave us a chance to build up our friendship that went on and on from there.”[footnote=50] Both Noguchi and Fuller were beginning to pursue their visionary ideals, and their immediate friendship influenced events in the early 1930s.

    The chrome-plated bronze portrait of Fuller, made at Noguchi’s studio, which was painted entirely silver at Fuller’s persuasion,[footnote=51] was one of fifteen heads exhibited at the Marie Sterner Gallery in February 1930. Noguchi employed a range of materials and styles. The reflective planar head surface of Fuller’s head strikingly represents this forward-thinking architect of geometric forms. Or, as Fuller describes it: “Completely reflective surfaces provided a fundamental invisibility of the surface.”[footnote=52] It was just prior to their meeting that Fuller had invented his Dymaxion House. A model of the hexagonal house, constructed around a central mast, had been shown in Chicago, at Marshall Field’s House of the Future, show in 1929. In 1930, Fuller’s energies were engaged in promoting the Dymaxion House to architects, possible sponsors, and all those who would listen to his concepts of the future.

    Following the exhibition at the Marie Sterner Gallery, Noguchi and Fuller took to the road with Noguchi’s sculptures and the model of the Dymaxion House packed in the back of Fuller’s station wagon. Their first destination was Cambridge, Massachusetts. For an exhibition at the Harvard Society for Contemporary Art. The Society was founded in 1929 by some of Julien Levy’s fellow Harvard Moderns Edward Warbug, John Walker III and Lincoln Kirstein (whose portrait Noguchi did in bronze). Its innovative approach to exhibiting art included presentations of architectural and industrial design such as Fuller’s Dymaxion House, along with modern paintings and sculpture. The portrait heads by Noguchi, including those of Martha Graham, George Gershwin and Fuller, were unconventionally shown, placed on pedestals made of galvanized furnace pipe.

    For the Society’s exhibition, the model of the Dymaxion House was placed in the courtyard of the Fogg Art Museum. Presumably Fuller’s architectural drawings were also exhibited. These plans contain handwritten, syncopated poetic descriptions of the house’s remarkable features including “pneumatic beds inflating to desired firmness”, “hexagonal pneumatic divan”, “bakelite floor” and a “dish washing machine which washes dried & returns dishes to shelves”.[footnote=43] Fuller also gave a lecture, one of many he was delivering at this time to explain his inventions. Afterwards Noguchi and Fuller drove to Chicago, where a similar exhibition was held at the Arts Club of Chicago.

    Noguchi returned briefly to New York before sailing in April 1930 to Paris for an extended trip in Europe and Asia. Fuller sent him a telegram from Chicago, intended to reach him aboard the Aquitania before it sailed from New York on 16 April. This Buckminster Fuller monologue on their friendship must have befuddled the Western Union operator to whom it was relayed. It concludes with the following statement: “IDEAL ART WHICH IS PROGRESSIVE INDIVIDUAL RADIONIC SYNCHRONIZATION OF TIME WITH ETERNAL NOW THROUGH REVELATIONS NONWARPABLE TRIANGE.” Fuller was dismayed to find out that his telegram, which he had been “at some pains to compose, as complete summary of our philosophic conversation”,[footnote=54] did not reach Noguchi before he sailed.

    Their “philosophic conversation” continued when Noguchi returned to New York: in 1932. While he was away, Fuller had taken over a magazine called T-Square. He immediately changed the name to Shelter, eliminated all advertising, and announced that issues would come out when “I had something I felt deeply in need to saying”.[footnote=55] Shelter, published from 1930 to 1932, was an opportunity for Fuller to incorporate the works, ideas and philosophies of friends and colleagues such as Noguchi, as well as to amass support for his own architectural plans. Back in New York, the first sculpture Noguchi made was Miss Expanding Universe. Fuller supplied its title and placed the piece on the cover of the November 1932 issue, where it hovers in a stunning photograph by F.S. Lincoln.

    The ideological impact of Shelter is evident upon looking at this issue. The magazine claiming to be “A Correlating Medium for the Forces of Architecture”, incorporates progressive, cross-discipline views on architecture, art and even the English language. There is an article by Noguchi, “Shelters of the Orient”; an article on Noguchi’s sculptures, “Colloidals in Time”; Richard Neutra on “New Buildings in Japan”; and C.K. Ogden’s plan for “Basic English” which reduces the number of words in the language to 850. The ideas contained in the pages of Shelter were not passing, momentary notions fixed in the temporal space of 1932, but concepts that Noguchi and Fuller independently pursued throughout their respective careers.[footnote=56]

    In his article, “Shelters of the Orient”, Noguchi establishes a relationship between traditional Asian styles of architecture and modern sensibilities in Western architecture. At its conclusion the correlation becomes a direct link to Fuller: “Translated into modern terms there exists a striking similarity between the ancient Japanese house and Fuller’s Dymaxion.”[footnote=57] Elsewhere Noguchi speaks of a material that plays an important role in his artistic life – paper and its “multitudinous use – diffuser of light, as protection against the wind and rain, lanterns and umbrellas”.[footnote=58] When Noguchi began designing his Akari paper lanterns in 1951, he had considered the role of this material in Japanese life for almost twenty years.

    As an artist, Noguchi did not recoil from verbal philosophies on art. “Colloidals in Time”, which features two other works by Noguchi (a portrait head, Ruth Parks, in the collection of the Whitney Museum of Art, and Draped Torso, an aluminum sculpture at the Metropolitan Museum of Art), includes his beliefs regarding sculpture and its relationship to the universe, “As a result of our contacts with, and feelings for life, art reminds those, whose minds are clear, of truth.”[footnote=59] While Noguchi and Fuller worked in different spheres, overlapping only on occasions, they absorbed each other’s ideals, and their shared sensibilities incorporated far-reaching perspectives on the world. Decades after Shelter, Noguchi saw their relationship in this way: “Our imagination expands as far as our expanding knowledge and beyond. We were already there in orbit, Bucky and I. New York was our city that glimmers in the distance, and we talked of time and cosmic space.”[footnote=60]

    In 1933, using the money he made from Shelter, Fuller applied his Dymaxion principles to transportation, the result being the Dymaxion Car. Working at a factory in Bridgeport, Connecticut, Noguchi made the plaster models for the car and Fuller, with a team of 27 men, had this extraordinary vehicle build. Fuller often transported well-known figures around in the Dymaxion car, including the pioneer aviatrix Amelia Earhart and the writer H. G. Wells. Noguchi was a passenger on one particularly notable trip – on 7 February 1934, he and Clare Boothe Luce, Dorothy Hale and others, drove with Fuller to the premiere of Gertrude Stein’s Four Saints in Three Acts at the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, Connecticut.[footnote=61]

    In a letter of 28 June 1933 arranging their plans for Birdgeport, Fuller imagined that these circumstances might allow Noguchi to realise his art more completely: “It seems to tme that this is the chance that you and I have always looked forward to in the matter of your executing the best of design.”[footnote=62] From these words of encouragement in 1933, Noguchi persevered within the art world, gaining the perspective, discipline and strength to create the range of forms for which he became well known. Perhaps the most complete expressions of his vision are his garden landscapes. It takes only a stroll through Jardin Japonais (1956-58) at the UNESCO headquarters in Paris, his first garden project, to experience the synthesis of Noguchi’s work – finally, a large space, such as he had been desiring since the early 1930s, allowed him to transform an urban area using water, stone, copper, wood, trees, grass and even fish. Employing elements of traditional Japanese gardening in unprecedented modern ways, Noguchi unified his Eastern and Western aesthetics, and integrated sculpture and design into everyday life. Stone sculptures function as seating, within a plan of shifting planes and contours that can be viewed as an abstract picture, or moved through and animated as a useful public setting. This garden in Paris takes us miles from the “uncertainties” and strife of the 1930s.

    (We are extremely grateful to Amy Hau, whose expert knowledge of the holdings of the Isamu Noguchi Foundation was invaluable to our research. All citations from material in the archives are published with kind permission of the Isamu Noguchi Foundation.)
  • “Alchemy of the Gallery.” Julien Levy: Portrait of an Art Gallery, ed. Ingrid Schaffner, Lisa Jacobs. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 1998, pp. 20-59.

    ALCHEMY OF THE GALLERY

    I love stupid paintings, decorated transom, stage sets, carnival booths, popular engravings, old fashioned literature, erotic books with non-existent spelling, the novels of our old grandmothers, fairytales, children’s books, old operas, silly refrains and naïve rhythms.

    -Arthur Rimbaud, Alchemy of the Verb, 1873 (translated by John Ashbery)

    Gallery-hoppers once made beelines to the Julien Levy Gallery. It was the place to see advanced contemporary art, according to the collector and Museum of Modern Art curator James Thrall Soby. As Soby reminisced in his unpublished memoirs: “[Julien Levy] was for a long time the only New York dealer who handled the work of the Surrealists and Neo-Romantics…. Nor did he neglect some of the best younger American painters, sculptors and (a very rare inclusion in the early 1930s in New York) photographers. It was at his various galleries in the 57th street area that I first saw the paintings of Ben Shahn, the photographs of Atget and Walker Evans and of many other artists whose names now seem secure in art’s ever-changing constellation.”[footnote=1] Upon arriving in New York from Paris in 1941, Leo Castelli recounted, he “immediately got involved with people who were, like me, interested in the Surrealists, who were very fashionable, the latest thing.”[footnote=2] At the top of his list was Julien Levy.

    In October 1937, the gallery opened at the second of the four locations it would have during its eighteen years in New York. Leading into the space was a magnificent curved wall, “the shape of a painter’s palette.”[footnote=3] Vogue enthused: “The newly-planned walls are broken up artfully, dipping and waving and straightening out again. The rug is dark wine, the walls white, the effect naked and modern.”[footnote=4] Pictures hanging on those walls took on a cinematic sequencing, directed by the dealer. Accelerated by the viewer’s advance, the curve rapidly dissolved one image into another, like frames in a film screened through a projector. A gallery press release announced that pictures “present themselves one by one, instead of stiffly regimented as they would be on a straight wall.”[footnote=5]

    Films and photography had been regular features at the gallery’s first location. Not classic American photography – moments frozen on the straight side of realism – but rather an avant-garde and European aesthetic. Levy’s taste was experimental, the images he chose often blurred by passages of movement and time, the very properties of cinema. Since his college days, the movies were Levy’s first love: in 1927 he sailed across the Atlantic with Marcel Duchamp, intent on making a film with Man Ray. And in 1941, lured by the siren call of Hollywood, he took his gallery on the road with a “caravan” series of exhibitions for a season on the West Coast. In a cast that over the years included Joseph Cornell, Salvador Dalí, Max Ernst, Alberto Giacometti, Frida Kahlo, René Magritte, and Dorothea Tanning, who all debuted in New York at Levy’s gallery, the star of the gallery’s final location was one of Surrealism’s most decisive harbingers of Abstract Expressionism, Arshile Gorky.

    In light of its contemporary reputation and this montage of achievements, Levy’s enterprise during the 1930s and early 1940s can be seen to anticipate the great New York art galleries of the late 1940s and the 1950s, those under the direction of such dealers as Sidney Janis, Sam Kootz, and Betty Parsons. In league with Peggy Guggenheim, Pierre Matisse, and Curt Valentine, Levy promoted the European avant-garde and Internationalism in America; his successors, in turn, promoted an American school of art, Abstract Expressionism, to an international audience of museum directors, collectors, connoisseurs, and critics. What Vogue admired in 1938 as Julien Levy’s stylishly modern good taste in white walls became the de rigueur backdrop for serious painting and sculpture. Betty Parsons recalled the stark white interior of her gallery when it opened in 1946: “In those days galleries mostly had velvet walls and very Victorian decoration. I decided to hell with that…. When you’re showing a large painting by Jackson Pollock, the last thing the work needs is a plush velvet wall behind it.”[footnote=6] Levy codified the rituals of contemporary gallery commerce, from sending out press releases and snappy announcement cards, to throwing opening-night cocktail parties. The gallery routinely published brochures with essays by famous writers and critics, who established an instant context for an artist’s works. Levy created a buzz that attracted the smart set, collectors, curators, press, other artists, who then generated reviews, gossip, speculation, and – most significant for the artists whose work was on view – interest and sales. In short, the Julien Levy Gallery made art lively.

    But it wasn’t all famous names and tasteful surroundings. There emerges another image of the gallery, this one less modern, retardataire, even. For each naked white wall, Levy’s gallery also had is scarlet side, with a “Harvard red room which took the place of red velvet…. I’ve always kept that color for painting.”[footnote=7] In such a room, Levy would show old American theatrical posters, American folk art, drawings for interiors by design students, costume designs for the ballet, and would sell books and periodicals. In pursuit of commercial opportunities for his artists and himself, he kept portfolios of portrait photography with hopes of landing paying sitters. He sought mural commissions for decorative interiors by his artists. He even offered a line of his own photo objects, trompe-l’oeil wastebaskets and lampshades.

    These “kinick kinacks,” as Levy called them, hark back to the historic origins of art dealing, to the curiosity shops and antiques trade. An eighteenth-century French dealer’s card exemplifies the diversity of interested that captivated early collectors:

    Gersaint, jewelry merchant…sells all of the latest metalwares and objects of taste, jewels, mirrors, cabinet paintings, pagodas, Japanese lacquerware and porcelain, seashells and other artifacts of natural history, pebbles, agates, and all kinds of strange and curious merchandise in general, in Paris, 1740.[footnote=8]

    Two hundred fifty years later, this bricolage of bric-a-brac seems closer to the marché aux puces than to the Leo Castelli Gallery.[footnote=9] But for Julien Levy in the 1930s and 1940s, such a display was evidently surreal. And although he may not have gone so far as to deal in bijoux and bibelots, he did show the work of Joseph Cornell, whose collage boxes are filled, like miniature Wunderkammern, with just such a world of “strange and curious” things.

    Levy’s was quintessentially a Surrealist sensibility, undivided in its affections for high and low art and artifacts. As Soby remarked, “Indeed he was as close to being an official Surrealist himself as one could come without signing one of André Breton’s guidelines to the Surrealist faith.”[footnote=10] But Levy’s personal identification with the French art movement does not fully explain the paradoxical position of his gallery. Simultaneously forward- and backward-looking, the gallery is emblematic of shifts taking place in the arts world and in art commerce just before the boom of the American postwar period. This essay will consider Levy as both a singular and a representative art dealer in America between 1931 and 1949, when galleries changed from upholstered enclaves and salon-style sanctuaries to fashionable forums with an expanded public, when contemporary artists began to have the cachet of old masters, and when dealers gained new authority within a system of showing and selling directly related to museum collecting and exhibiting. It will also consider Levy’s particular affinities, ambitions, and legacy, and what made his enterprise unique.

    The Economy of Art Dealing

    Like the rest of the economy during the early 1930s, the American art market was in a depression. In August 1931, just months before the Julien Levy Gallery opened, The Art News reported rhetorically: “Today there is a slump in the art trade of Great Britain and American brought about by large numbers of collectors who are in the habit of buying art [who are] temporarily ceasing to make purchases.”[footnote=11] An art gallery is by nature an expensive proposition. Aside from its dealing in luxuries, there is the basic cost of rent. Here, Levy had an indisputable advantage in that his father, Edgar, was a powerful New York real estate developer, who during the Depression had many primary locations available to let. On April 3, 1931, Julien wrote to his mother-in-law, Mina Loy, who would serve as his Paris agent during the first years of his gallery: “I have found a beautiful location, size about 20 feet x 50 feet, with a good show window, very bon marché because of the depression, and I am on the point of signing the lease.”[footnote=12]

    Having secured a space, the dealer pays the cost of shipping, insurance, framing, if not outright buying works of art, and then of photographing, and printing announcements, catalogues, and press releases. On top of this, there are “optional” expenses of a gallery assistant’s salary, opening-night parties, artist’s stipends, and professional fees for outside writers and curators. From sales income, the dealer stands to make fifty percent if the work comes directly from the artist, but only a portion of that if another dealer is involved. Although no comprehensive gallery records survive, it seems that Levy’s policy was to collect from the artist a work from each exhibition for his private collection, in addition to which he frequently purchased another work or two.[footnote=13] When, as in the case of Alberto Giacometti and René Magritte, there were few other sales, Levy would be his own best client.

    Price tags from the 1930s indicate that the business prospects for the Julien Levy Gallery could not have been less auspicious. An insurance checklist from Levy for loans to the Harvard Society for Contemporary Art in January 1932 values Atget photographs at $10 apiece, Moholy-Nagy photographs at $15, an Ernst painting at $250, and a Dalí at $450. The high end of Levy’s market was represented by Picasso – two tiny paintings at $1,800 each – and Pierre Roy – a $1,500 painting – which Levy had on consignment from other galleries. In the best of times, Levy’s income from any of these sales would have been nominal. With the market in recession, a gallery specializing in contemporary art seems to have been an insupportable venture.

    And yet it was a time for wealthy young men to embark on visionary ventures. Alfred H. Barr, Jr., was the first acting director of the Museum of Modern Art; Arthur Everett (“Chick”) Austin, Jr., as director of the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, established the Avery Memorial Wing for modern Ballet. All were expressing ambitions to institute the avant-garde in America. Even the Whitney Studio Club changed its identity, becoming the Whitney Museum of American Art in 1931. As reactions against the old cultural establishment, with its spectacularly failed investment in the status quo, these efforts might even be seen as an extension of New Deal aspirations. At the very least they indicate how opportune it was to try something new, perhaps because there was so little to lose. By his own account, Levy, a young man from New York’s upper middle class who had been happily seduced from family business by bohemia, was in it for fame.

    Atget and Ambition

    Julien Levy’s first inklings of becoming an art dealer can be traced to one body of work, the golden-toned photographs of turn-of-the-century Paris by Jean-Eugène-Auguste Atget. “You remember the photos?” Levy wrote to Mina Loy on March 12, 1930. “Of every concievable [sic] subject in or around Paris, doorways, stairways, brothels, courts, trees, street vendors, fairs, shop windows, corsets and umbrellas. All taken with beautiful quality, selection, and composition.” Levy had been introduced to Atget during his 1927 Paris trip through Man Ray, who lived near the photographer. At the time, Levy purchased as many prints as Atget would sell, and as many as he could ferret out at antiquarian booksellers’. In 1930, Levy suddenly had more Atgets than he knew what to do with, having just acquired a partial interest in Berenice Abbott’s archive of more than ten thousand prints and nearly two thousand glass-plate negatives.

    After the photographer’s death in August 1927, Abbott, who had been Man Ray’s assistant, rescued Atget’s oeuvre from the proverbial dustbin of history by acquiring all of the material that remained in the studio from Atget’s friend André Calmette. One of her first projects with the material was to coordinate a monograph in French on Atget, which she brought with her to New York in 1930. Levy was then working as an assistant to Carl Zigrosser in the upstairs print room at the Weyhe Gallery, and presumably because of his established interest in the work, Abbott took the book to him in hopes of finding an American publisher. She got that, and more, according to Levy’s news to Loy:

    [Bernice] will tell you that I have arranged an exhibition for next year of her Atget photos. And I have also bought a part interest in them. They will be hard to exploit as the public in America is decidedly not photo-minded, but I think they are very beautiful, the kind of work of genius that doesn’t appear every day, and the problem of managing them to the best advantage will mean two years fun at least. And if they are half as successful as they deserve to be, my reputation as a person, a connoisseur, an art dealer, man in public life, etc. will be made. Also Berenice’s reputation as a photographer will be more than merely boosted, and she should make a tidy sum of money. IF they are half as successful as they desrve [sic] to be.[footnote=14]

    In Levy, Abbott found the support to secure financially the Atget archive that was in her keeping. As a photographer, she had already assumed the artistic charge that she would maintain over the archive, organizing the material, making prints, and storing the glass negatives. She further expressed her deep affinity for Atget by lecturing extensively on his work and, even more explicitly, by undertaking in 1929 a project to document Manhattan, as he had Paris, in photographs. Through Abbott, Levy had found the start of a career, and he set out to make his mark as a New York art dealer representing the work of Atget.

    As detailed in his correspondence with Loy, Levy’s experience coordinating the Atget show at the Weyhe Gallery is a preview of coming attractions, expectations, and disappointments at the future Julien Levy Gallery. The summer her spent making selections for the Weyhe exhibition was a period of intense fulfillment, of rapturous engagement. What familiarity he had with Atget’s work promptly developed into greater intimacy; he “cheated” on his wife, Joella, who was living in Scarsdale until the young couple’s New York apartment was renovated, to “work at [the photographs] evenings, staying in town overnight about twice every week. Always discovering new and exciting ones.”[footnote=15] To his mother-in-law, he happily confessed, “My photographs are giving me a heavenly summer…. There is nothing I could ask for better than to roll myself between sheets of Atgets, each new one I find (and there are thousands) is a revelation.”[footnote=16] Years later, when an interviewer suggested that Atget was essentially a Romantic, Levy snapped to the defense of his first love in photography: “I don’t know whether you mean it in an insulting way or what”; but he conceded that Atget “probably was.”[footnote=17 Levy then proceeded to describe with vivid clarity “this monumental effect, in nothingness,” in Atget’s original prints, as he had come to know them more than forty years before.

    At Weyhe, while arranging the photographs along the bookshelves, Levy found the prints as “beautiful [as] most paintings,” if not more so. But seeking to promote the work in advance of the exhibition led to one of Levy’s first professional disappointments. The editors at Hound and Horn, the literary magazine founded by Lincoln Kirstein, were enthusiastic. Unfortunately, however, as Levy explained to Loy, “when Mr. Kirstein heard of the project he flatly said NO. He had only just then decided that nothing but American contributions would be accepted in the future.”[footnote=18] Levy did manage to place Atget’s work in Ezra Pound’s literary magazine Pagany.[footnote=19] The next sign that selling French photographs in American was not going to be easy came from the Museum of Modern Art. During the summer, Levy feverishly fantasized to Loy of Atget’s incipient fame: “Even if I am left without one in my possession, I dream of saying 20 years hence ‘I once had them all alone in my room, and now they can only be seen in a Museum (or morgue).’”[footnote=20] Alfred Barr shared Levy’s admiration for Atget and advocated photography as an art in its own right, worthy of museum exhibition and collection. And yet early autumn found Levy faced with a cooler reality. He wrote Loy, “The only set-back being that the trustees of the great Museum of Modern Art have refused photography in general as art. Had counted on a promise from the director to show my Atgets. And that cursed museum has come to dictate the taste in contemporania of most of N.Y. and even of Am.U.S.”[footnote=21] In 1969 the same “cursed museum” would purchase the entire Abbott-Levy collection of Atget’s negatives and photographs.

    Impatient for some evidence of recognition, while constructing dream galleries in the air, Levy joked to Loy, “I am perpetually irritated that things take three of four days to materialize. As soon as I think of the project it should be done, rise whole and sweet from the mental energy I generate. I am already spending the money we haven’t gottened, and tomorrow I will be a suicide because nobody comes into the gallery we haven’t yet gottened.”[footnote=22] His reluctance to develop a project, to nurture an artist’s reputation over time, would prove among Levy’s foremost professional liabilities. As a dealer, he was too often ready to lose interest in those things that did not garner instant support, as Atget’s photographs did not. Where his vision was radically was radically ahead of the market, Levy succeeded as a collector, not a dealer. After two early shows at his gallery failed to popularize Atget’s prints, they were essentially consigned to storage. (This would be a source of bitterness for Abbott, whose active and steadfast responsibility toward the work led to its sale to the Museum of Modern Art; she resented having to share the proceeds with Levy.[footnote=23]) Such was the fate of photography in general, which was soon supplanted by painting and sculpture as the Levy Gallery’s focus. Unlike Alfred Stieglitz, for example, Levy was unable or unwilling to commit himself to the long-term project of preaching, proselytizing, and performing the little miracles that it takes to challenge resistance, alter perceptions, and create public acceptance of new art. He experienced a rush of irritation toward potential Atget customers, as he told Loy: “Everybody admires [Atget’s photographs] but nobody seems willing to pay a price for one. The feeling is that any photograph is just a snapshot and only worth its association value, no more than that. If you concieve [sic] of a promising sales program, do communicate.”[footnote=24]

    It was not all dark premonitions. Although he was not as successful as he had hoped, Levy did experience the first thrill of sales in his introductory exhibit of Atget’s work. In late July, even before the Weyhe show officially opened, he boasted to Loy that “the first primed and mounted specimens were delivered to me here at the gallery, and within an hour I had sold 10 TEN, to two utter strangers (or almost utter).”[footnote=25] Midway through the exhibition, he reported: “This week we received rather good publicity and the photographs have begun to boom. I have made back all expenses in the two weeks, no profits yet, but expect sales to multiply as the days go on, and that will be all profit as there are no further expenses to expect.”[footnote=26] There is no account from Levy tallying the score of the Atget show. By the end of the exhibition, on December 6, he had, according to his correspondence to Loy, at least broken even, received some good press (“Really of course in these days of depression praise rather than shekels is the best one should expect”) and made some new connections (“I am having my quota of amusement and meeting many important personages through the exhibition”).[footnote=27] The experience buoyed him sufficiently that he could announce to Loy his intention to open a gallery. On January 2, 1931, less than a month after the Atget show ended, he wrote: “I enter upon the money my mother left me – Jan. 22 at the age of 25. I am seriously thinking of taking a chance on my immature inexperience because the state of affairs is too opportune to pass up. I may invest the money in buying pictures, objects, etc. to stock my destined Arte Shoppe. Perhaps I may leave Weyhe.”

    A Bid for the Future

    Dear Mr. Stieglitz,

    Greetings! I have so much to tell you, and to ask you, and many pictures to show you. I am more anxious for your approval than that of any man I know.[footnote=28]

    Shortly after coming into his inheritance, Levy quit Weyhe. He wrote confidently to Loy on March 16, 1931: “I plan to open a gallery of my own, called the PLACE OF LEVY…. I am concentrating chiefly on photography as the ‘supreme expression of our epoch’ always a secret passion of mine, i.e. any supreme expression, but I am glad to take anything else that may be cornered.” And again in April: “I do not plan to have only photographs, but pictures, sculpture, and even kinick kinacks. But photographs are a bid for the future, for uniqueness and publicity.”[footnote=29] Levy’s vision was not unique. Sharing her husband’s ambition and informing his plans, Joella Levy encouraged him, in an undated letter, that it was time to act on the opening of a photography gallery. (From her tone, it seems that photo galleries were the rage among the aesthetically inclined of Levy’s generation.) She advised him of her choice for the best location – 602 Madison Avenue, at Fifty-seventh Street – and urged him to sign the lease.

    On November 2, 1931, the Julien Levy Gallery opened at that address, with American Photography Retrospective Exhibition. Announced in the brochure as a “concise restatement of work since the daguerreotype,” the show was a tribute to New York’s high priest of photography and art dealing, Alfred Stieglitz, whose work was displayed along with that of five of his artists. Levy was too young to have experienced Stieglitz’s Little Galleries of the Photo-Secession at 291 Fifth Avenue, “291” for short. Between 1905 and 1917, the gallery had hosted a roster of ground-breaking exhibitions: of photographs of Alvin Langdon Coburn, caricatures by Marius de Zayas, New York studies by Francis Picabia. During the late 1920s, however, Levy had made routine visits to Stieglitz’s successive spaces, the Intimate Gallery (1925-1929) and An American Place (1929-1946), whose name one cannot help hearing echoed in the mock “Place of Levy.”[footnote=30]

    The interior of Levy’s gallery was modeled in part on Stieglitz’s immaculate aesthetic. The front room was painted white, but instead of hanging the pictures on plaster walls that would require maintenance after each exhibition, Levy installed an inventive system of wooden moldings designed to hold photographs sandwiched between reusable sheets of glass. This would obviate the costs of framing and touch-up. The back room, reserved for paintings, was painted red. This touch of the old in the midst of the new perhaps reflects on his previous employment at Weyhe, an altogether different type of gallery. The evenings at Stieglitz’s may have been inspirational, but the days at Weyhe provided Levy with practical experience. “It made an apprenticeship for me,” he later said of the years he had worked under the print connoisseur and future curator at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Carl Zigrosser.[footnote=31] During Levy’s employment at Weyhe, there were shows of woodcuts by Alexander Calder and watercolors by Rockwell Kent; the mainstay there, though, was books.

    Books and periodicals played an important role also at Levy’s gallery, attracting their own public, Bothered by browsers, gallery assistant Allen Porter interrupted himself in a letter to Agnes Rindge, the Vassar College art historian who was part of the gallery’s inner circle of clients and collaborators: “This is all very disjointed on account of I’m here all alone and I have to keep getting up and answering sill questions like are those books for sale. My God, do they think this is an educational institution?”[footnote=32] There were buyers. Levy’s reputation as a dealer seems to have been as much for art as for books, whose prices at the time were comparable to those of photographs. He sold issues of La Révolution Surréaliste ($7.50 a copy) to Harvard University, and poetry and prose to his colleague Pierre Matisse, who purchased Louis Aragon’s Le Paysan de Paris ($3.00), René Crevel’s Le Clavecin de Diderot ($2.00), and Paul Éluard’s La Rose Publique ($2.75).[footnote=33] Levy was a distributor for Minotaure, the art magazine that launched Skira as a high-end fine-arts publisher. And when Camille Dausse, a physician in Paris who exchanged his services to artists for books, decided to sell his substantial library of Surrealist material, he approached Levy to act as his agent to the Museum of Modern Art.[footnote=34]
    Stieglitz had diversified interests, too. He was a photographer, an art dealer, and a publisher. (Among Levy’s papers was an undated brochure from Weyhe announcing that, in collaboration with Stieglitz, the gallery would carry back issues of his journal Camera Work.) For all its personal adaptations, Levy’s opening program and plan remain essentially an homage to Stieglitz. It was wise strategy for the twenty-five-year-old novice to affiliate his enterprise with the established authority in the field. After an exhibition of paintings buy the popular portraitist Massimo Compigli (whose sales were intended to compensate for photography’s negligible market[footnote=35]), Levy presented the historic French photographers Atget and Nadar, both of whom were still little known in America.[footnote=36] Atget earned the highest ordination when a reviewer for The Art Digest compared his art to Stieglitz’s.[footnote=37] If Levy’s first step as a dealer was to stand on the shoulders of this art world giant, his next several shows marked strides in new directions.

    Fame, Fashion, and Film

    Having staked his opening bid for “uniqueness and publicity” on photography, Levy was granted both, when, in January 1932, his gallery presented the first exhibition of Surrealism – titled in the French, Surréalisme – in New York. Featuring painting, sculpture, collage, photography, and books, the show instantly earned the Julien Levy Gallery the distinction of being the place to see sensationally new art. And with the first New York appearance of work by Salvador Dalí, there was publicity galore.[footnote=38] Dalí’s Persistence of Memory was reproduced in virtually every review, with one perplexed critic at The Art Digest going so far as to poll New York’s psychiatric community: “The limpness of the clocks, one of them found, expressed impotence. Another felt that it was an excellent rendition of potence, because time … meant power, which could be transformed into anything, even saddles on which one might mount and ride off to victory in the distant hills.”[footnote=39] Writing on a “bewildering” exhibit, the critic for The New York Times demurred: “One of the most entertaining exhibitions of the season (possibly the most profound) is in progress at the Julien Levy Gallery.”[footnote=40]

    The public success of the show gave Levy the fame that he prized over fortune, and plunged the young dealer into activity that turned the next years at the gallery into an extended definition of Surrealism. The course had been inadvertently forecast by Chick Austin, whose Newer Super-Realism at the Wadsworth Atheneum was in fact the first exhibition of Surrealism in the United States, having preceded Levy’s by two months.[footnote=41] Austin asserted: “Sensational, yes, but after all the paintings of our present day must compete with the movie thriller and the scandal sheet,” and added, “We do not hesitate to dress in fashion because we fear the next year the mode will alter…. These pictures are chic. They are entertaining. They are of the moment.”[footnote=42] Over the years, Levy’s gallery would make art fashionable, and take him to Hollywood.

    During the 1930s and 1940s, the arts mixed freely. Perhaps, again, with fewer rewards at stake, artists, dancers, dress designers, and choreographers could risk losing their identities in collaboration. Representative was the 1937 exhibition, organized by Lincoln Kirstein and held at the Levy Gallery, of the Ballet Caravan Collaborators of the School of American Ballet. The exhibition showcased set designs by Paul Cadmus, choreography by Lew Christianson, and music by Paul Bowles and Virgil Thomson; and displayed a Sears, Roebuck catalogue, from which costumes had been ordered, and a seventeenth-century commedia dell’arte engraving, which inspired one dance’s imagery of Harlequin. Amid this creative hubbub, one can see the period as a throwback to pre-modern culture, when fewer distinctions separated high from low, art from decoration, beauty from pleasure. Austin, for instance, observed the liaison between Surrealism and fashion. Levy also represented the now almost forgotten, but then fantastically popular, Neo-Romantic figurative painters, who merged Picasso’s Blue Period with classical de Chirico to conjure an attractive ambience of pathos and ruin. They were also available for mural commissions. Eugene Berman turned James Thrall Soby’s dining room into a theatrical setting, an at-home version of a folly at Versailles. The cultural ideals were in many other respects elitist, dictates by young barons such as Kirstein from their privileged, and self-made, posts. For the amount of hybridization, this cultured imagery could even be called baroque. At the same time, the general readership for the arts seems to have been quite sophisticated. Open a contemporary issue of Harper’s Bazaar or Vogue and you will find an essay by Jean-Paul Sartre, models posed in a tableau by de Chirico or photographed by Man Ray, ads for Elsa Schiaparelli designed by Dalí, and items about the Julien Levy Gallery, where there was always something amazing going on.

    Where else could you view paintings by Gracie Allen with such titles as Behind the Before yet Under the Vast above the World is in Tears and Tomorrow is Tuesday, or Eyes Adrift as Sardines Wrench at Your Heart Strings?[footnote=43] Where could you shop for prints by Picasso and constructions by Cornell, commission a photographic portrait from Edward Weston, George Platt Lynes, or Lee Miller, and see Frida Kahlo, dressed in full Mexicanista, installing her first exhibition in New York? Where could you buy a Magritte? And when Pavel Tchelitchew’s Phenomena, a sensational allegory of the contemporary cultural universe, studded with miniature portraits of Gertrude Stein, the poet Charles Henri Ford, and Joella Levy, to name merely a few luminaries, traveled from Paris to London, where did it stop in New York for one week only, but at the Julien Levy Gallery?

    Carl Van Vechten, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Rockefeller, and George Gershwin were among those who RSVP’ed to a private screening of Un Chien Andalou held at the gallery on November 17, 1932. This was the second evening of film hosted by Levy that fall, when he also took office as president of the first Film Society of New York. Modeled after clubs in France, the Society sent out a prospectus in the summer of 1932:

    Beginning in January, THE FILM SOCIETY will show to its private membership on one Sunday evening a month… motion pictures of excellence, not ordinarily to be seen even in little playhouses, or forbidden for public performance by the censors, and revivals important to the history of the motion picture.

    The first program, held on January 29 of the following year at the Essex House, included an animated color cartoon by Walt Disney, an abstract film of light waves produced by music, and G.W. Pabst’s Die Dreigroschenoper in a French version. Four more equally diverse programs appeared through May, with the American premiere on March 19 of Luis Buñuel’s L’Âge d’Or, “the first surrealist film of feature length.”[footnote=44] In preparation for this event, Levy contacted Mina Loy: “If Bunuel gets in touch with you bargain with him…. Impress on him [that] I probably can do better than our offer by renting them to other similar organizations which are in process of appearing like mushrooms these days, and sharing the profits with him.” After a successful screening, Levy reported to Loy: “Presenting L’Âge D’Or was most exciting. We didn’t know if our show would be the success of the year, or if we would be run out of town. The former proved true and the film is still the only topic for dinner conversation all about New York.”[footnote=45]

    The Film Society folded after its first season. Levy continued to show artists’ films at his gallery, most notably Cornell’s Rose Hobart and Goofy Newsreels, collaged from found footage the artist was buying by the pound from distribution warehouses in New Jersey. The short-lived Society was officially reincarnated in 1937, when the Museum of Modern Art appointed Iris Barry, founder of the London Film Society and formerly on the board of directors of the New York Film Society, to head its new Film Library; this would eventually become the Museum’s Film Department.
    Museum Versus Gallery

    This progression of events demonstrates the dynamics between gallery and museum. Although Alfred Barr had included both film and photography departments in his preliminary plans for the Museum of Modern Art, his board initially opposed these areas of collecting. One can imagine that the reputation of photography at the Museum was significantly besmirched through association with the ill-fated Murals by American Painters and Photographers exhibition of 1932. Organized by Kirstein, who asked Levy to curate the photography section, the show was an invitational that turned disastrous when several advisory committee members resigned in objection to perceived leftist imagery; one contributor, for instance, had “mixed ticker tape with pigs and financiers.”[footnote=46] Not until 1937 would the Museum seriously broach the subject of photography again, with a major survey curated by Beaumont Newhall. Levy lent several works to the show, which covered much of the ground he had explored in the early years of his gallery.[footnote=47]

    With his Surreéalisme of 1932 and many subsequent solo shows of Surrealist artists, Levy’s activities laid the groundwork for the Museum of Modern Art’s 1936 exhibition Fantastic Art, Dada, Surrealism. Compare his New York premieres of Dalí and Tchelitchew in 1933 with the museum’s exhibitions of their work in 1942; his 1933 Cartier-Bresson show with the Museum’s 1947 exhibition; his 1945 Gorky show with the Museum’s 1962 exhibition; or his 1932 Cornell Show with the Museum’s 1980 retrospective. The list could go on, as so many of the artists Levy responded to as emerging talents would become the subjects of major museum surveys. But this is the role of the gallery, a fast and light operation with easy access to artists and the work insider their studios. The ponderous machinery of a museum, with its labyrinth of departments and administrations, its public and fiscal responsibilities, moves slowly and cautiously, and ruminates on what happens in the galleries. Levy, ever outspoken about his aversion to museum bureaucracies, may not have been exaggerating when he said that Barr was “jealous” of his freedom as a dealer.[footnote=48] Barr’s brilliance was often encumbered and embattled by opposition from inside and outside the museum. When key works in the Fantastic Art exhibition were suspected of being communist, for example, Barr had to defend to his colleagues their inclusion in the subsequent tour of the show.[footnote49] On the other hand, a museum has the power and resources to grant an artist the public and historic interest that takes time to establish. And in this respect, although Barr may have envied Levy’s independence, Levy would have enjoyed the acknowledgement a museum receives for consecrating subjects that his gallery took the risk to originate. If the museum exhibition, which takes a minimum of a year to organize and which can fill entire floors, is a full-length novel or an encyclopedia, the gallery exhibition is an essay, composed in a relatively compressed time and space. Still, the number of shows Levy produced each season is remarkable, especially since they were so brief in duration, often only two weeks; today, gallery exhibitions run usually for at least a month, sometimes two. One museum man of Levy’s generation operated with the light speed of a gallerist and the historicizing vision of a curator. As director of the Wadsworth Atheneum, Chick Austin moved on a maverick course that, in relation to Levy and Barr, stands outside the usual dealer/curator/director constructs. Austin was a magician. (In truth he was, performing as Osram the Great to benefit the Atheneum’s art classes for children.) He pulled ideas, brilliantly full-blown, out of his hat almost faster than they could be contained by his trustees or absorbed by the public. Austin’s museum was his theater: in 1929 he screened silent movies to foster interest in film as an art form; in 1930 he showed photography; in 1931 he premiered the Neo-Romantics in Five Young Painters and Surrealism in Newer Super-Realism; in 1934 he held the first American retrospective of Picasso. And that was just the beginning. Austin even managed to scoop Kirstein, when, in October 1933, he brought George Balanchine from Paris, eventually to found the School of American Ballet in Hartford. It lasted only a few days there before bursting like a bubble, having floated too far from the rarified atmosphere of New York, where it would thrive under Kirstein’s aegis.

    During the 1930s, Levy and Austin shuttled art and exhibitions between New York and Hartford. The dealer regularly borrowed works from the Atheneum and the director made major acquisitions through the gallery – most significant, in 1933, the Serge Lifar collection of ballet sets and costume designs. (Their correspondence reveals another aspect of Levy and Austin’s transactions, with Levy frequently resorting to humorous desperation, “Dear Chick: I must have some consideration given to our bill or I’ll take an overdose of Luminol. Wasn’t I empathetic enough when I spoke to you verbally?”[footnote=50]) The exchange was more than mercantile; Levy credited Austin, for instance, for adding a touch of theater to one of his exhibitions by proposing a black wall as a backdrop for the pictures.[footnote=51]

    As the art world in Levy’s day was much smaller than it is today – there were probably fewer than fifteen galleries in New York at any one time in the 1930s, and only three or so concentrating on contemporary art – the boundaries between dealer and curator, gallery and museum were more fluid. Several of Levy’s exhibitions toured to (or from) public institutions: Eight Modes of Painting, curated by Agnes Rindge, appeared at Levy’s gallery on a tour organized by the College Art Association; Abstract Sculpture by Alberto Giacometti traveled to the Arts Club of Chicago; Constructions in Space: Gabo went from the Wadsworth to Levy to the Vassar College Art Gallery; and Documents of Cubism appeared at the Wadsworth Atheneum and the Smith College Museum of Art.

    Hollywood

    In the late summer of 1941, Levy took his gallery on the road, with what he called in his autobiography “a traveling gallery, a caravan of modern art.”[footnote=52] He headed west, and set up shop first in San Francisco at the Courvoisier Galleries, the official dealer for Walt Disney’s animation art. Levy had already presented Disney’s cels in New York, in a series of very successful shows. In San Francisco, he presented a dealer’s version of Duchamp’s traveling boîte-en-valise: highlights from his New York stable, including group shows of Neo-Romantics and Surrealists. The next stop was Hollywood, where he established himself on Sunset Boulevard and opened with Dalí. The show was tantalizingly framed by the gallery announcement: “These paintings are to be shipped to New York for exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art and will be available in Hollywood for one week only.” To Soby, on the receiving end of Dalís, Levy wrote that so far “Hollywood is exciting and the Gallery is alive and selling.”[footnote=53] He also confided his financial motivation in leaving New York: to save on rent and sell off some of the old gallery stock.

    Banking on glamour to attract publicity and customers, Levy next organized a Hollywood show of work by the Art Deco modernist Tamara de Lempicka, Baroness Kuffner.[foonote=54] Eugene Berman, who was in Santa Barbara preparing an exhibition of his work for the city’s Museum of Art, reported acidly to Soby: “We’re having a heat wave and the temperature is near 90˚. Julien opened his gallery a few weeks ago with a terrible exhibition of Lempicka and big opening party and terrific crowds. Now it’s the Neo-Romantic show, much less flashy and not so swank, but it’s a good exhibition and on the whole Julien is doing much better than expected, since Hollywood is such a difficult place for business.”[footnote=55]

    Levy was not the only New Yorker attracted to the local industry and industrialists of celluloid dreams. Out West, he met many colleagues from back East. Imagining that Hollywood might naturally respond with enthusiasm to his experience with photography and fashion, Man Ray spent the war years in Los Angeles in exile from Paris.[footnote=56] The Dada collectors Walter and Louise Arensberg had been living in Los Angeles since 1921, attracting Duchamp for visits in 1936, 1949, and 1959, as well as a steady stream of curators and museum directors hoping to land a bequest of the couple’s collection.[footnote=57] (René d’Harnoncourt won, for the Philadelphia Museum of Art.) In 1941 and 1943, Chick Austin was in Hollywood to found Gates Theatre Studio with Edgar Bergen, Charles Coburn, Walter Huston, and others. Salvador Dalí went there to stage the dream sequence for Alfred Hitchcock’s 1945 movie Spellbound, and again in 1946 at the invitation of Walt Disney to collaborate on Destino, an unrealized animated film based on a Mexican ballad. In 1945, MGM tapped twelve artists for a competition, won by Max Ernst, to paint a Temptation of Saint Anthony as a prop for the movie Bel-Ami. Despite these flirtations between art and film, artists and actors, dealers and directors, when William Copley went west in 1947 and exhibited the work of Cornell, Ernst, and Man Ray, he could not sell a thing.[footnote=58] His gallery closed the following year.

    Gallery Versus Gallery

    In 1938, Vogue profiled seven Fifty-seventh Street galleries, each with “a personality as sharp and distinct as any movie star.”[footnote=59] The lineup reveals Levy’s colleagues and competition at the peak of his gallery’s success, beginning with Durand-Ruel, the gallery “that sold the French Impressionists to the Americans.” The walls were “covered in dull brown velvet,” which the writer found “curiously soothing,” as were “the same Negro attendants who have been opening the doors” for great collectors for years. Alternatively, there was Wildenstein, behind a Louis XVI façade, “brought, stone by stone, from France,” where “a gallant Frenchman escorts clients the length of the marble hall into a beautiful Louis-Quinze room… furnished to what would have been Marie Antoinette’s taste.” At Marie Harriman’s, the surroundings went ignored, because of the “best-looking art dealer…best skier and best bowler on Fifty-Seventh Street”; but the fare was strictly School of Paris. Levy’s specialties were “Surrealism, the photography of the mind,’ and Neo-Romanticism, ‘the camera of the soul.’” His gallery was “principally for the sophisticated and the young,” in marked contrast to the neighboring (and no doubt intimidating) bastions of conservative art commerce.

    Not on Vogue’s shortlist was the Pierre Matisse Gallery, which opened just before Levy’s, in late October 1931, with an exhibition of Georges Braque, Jean Lurçat, and Georges Rouault. Having served his apprenticeship at the prestigious Valentine-Dudensing gallery of modern European art, and as son of Henri (whose Museum of Modern Art retrospective opened one month after his son’s gallery), Pierre had impeccable credentials. And while Levy had to “adopt” his patrimony, claiming Stieglitz and Duchamp to be his godfathers (“I didn’t bring them into the church. I just, in my mind, said, ‘I want theiur belssings,’ and I consider them my inspiration”[footnote=60]), Matisse was a blueblood, who would establish the first blue-chip gallery of modern art in New York. The two dealers operated within different, at times overlapping, echelons. Matisse showed only established figures; Levy took his chances. Many artists who had a start in New York at Levy’s gallery, including Calder, Giacometti, Matta, Tanguy, and Gorky, went on to enjoy sustained careers and become the new old masters with Pierre Matisse.

    “Idea Shows” and Duchamp

    Compared with Matisse’s gallery, with its museumlike program, and from today’s perspective, Levy’s seems more an alternative space than a typical commercial gallery. In the early 1930s, he established diversity with forays into film and photography and with innovative group shows. Later on in the decade, he relied on an increasingly conceptual program and featured a number of what he called “idea shows,” some curated by artists. In 1938, Levy organized Old and New “Trompe l’Oeil,” mixing F.G. da Bibiena and William Harnett with Berman and Dalí. One of his favorite writers, Henry James, inspired The “Picturesque” Tradition in American Painting of the Nineteenth Century, a 1943 show of landscape paintings. The same year, Through the Big End of the Opera Glass focused on miniature works by Cornell, Duchamp, and Tanguy. For the 1944 Imagery of Chess exhibition, Levy commissioned boards and pieces from the artists, several of whom also participated in a competition at the gallery. This was something of an early Happening, with the reigning “World Champion of Blindfold Chess,” George Koltanowski, scheduled to play in simultaneous matches against (blindfolded) Barr, Ernst, Levy, Dorothea Tanning, the architect Frederick Kiesler, and Dr. Gregory Zilboorg. (The champion beat everyone but Kiesler, who managed a draw.) And in 1945, Objects of My Affection featured works by Man Ray selected by Man Ray.

    Looming large behind these projects was Marcel Duchamp: from the trompe-l’oeil of his Rotoreliefs, to the museum-in-a-suitcase of miniature reproductions of his own art (the boîte-en-valise), to his binary intrigue with the conceptual play behind a game of chess and a work of art. In addition, Duchamp advocated specific artists to Levy, such as the painter Gar Sparks and the sculptor Maria Martins, who was also the model for the supine female figure in Duchamp’s last work, the tableau Étant Donnés.[footnote=61] Levy had known and admired Duchamp (he blatantly called it hero worship[footnote=62]) since 1926, when Levy persuaded his father to buy a sculpture by Constantin Brancusi, whose interests Duchamp was representing in America. Like Stieglitz, Duchamp impressed Levy as dealer, artist, and impresario. And just as Stieglitz had influenced the first years of the Levy Gallery, so would Duchamp inspire its second phase.

    Duchamp had been an active member of the Dada movement in New York throughout the teens and twenties; during the forties he functioned as a spiritual presence, detached yet omnipresent. The city was full of his European colleagues, among them artists and intellectuals who had fled the German occupation: Berman, Breton, Ernst, André Masson, Amédée Ozenfant, Kurt Seligmann, Tanguy, Ossip Zadkine. Breton, who never learned to speak English, presided over the Surrealists in exile, with the Euro-centric Levy Gallery serving as his base of operations. (The scholar Anna Balakian recalled that when, as a graduate student, she wanted to meet Breton, Levy provided the introduction at his gallery.[footnote=63]) Duchamp, a Surrealist sympathizer, contributed to Breton’s projects – he designed the catalogue and created an extraordinary installation from one mile of string for Breton’s 1942 First Papers of Surrealism exhibition, for instance – without ever being the initiator.[footnote=64] Even in the midst of Levy’s most Duchampian exploits, the artist’s involvement was indirect. When the matches were on during the Imagery of Chess exhibition, Duchamp declined to play, preferring to act as referee.[footnote=65]

    In his unpublished memoirs, Soby paid a retrospective visit to the Julien Levy Gallery, where he found Levy engrossed in yet another game of chess with Duchamp, the implication being that this was the dealer’s most cherished diversion.[footnote=66] A perceptive assessment, for it does seem that, more than the satisfaction of running a business, what Levy enjoyed about being an art dealer was his interaction with the players, the challenge of coming up with successful strategies for exhibitions, the pleasure in handling the pieces themselves – particularly if they were artworks by Man Ray, Ernst, Atget, Tanning, Gorky, or Dalí.

    Abstraction and Architecture

    That the Pierre Matisse Gallery survived the 1940s and the Levy Gallery did not is more than just a tribute to Matisse’s greater business acumen. It also reflects changed that Matisse’s powerful gallery effortlessly weathered but that would compromise Julien’s “Arte Shoppe.” Levy’s identity was inextricably linked with Surrealism as a contemporary art movement, and by the 1940s its hold on current imagination was beginning to wane. Its passage and substitution occurred essentially in one place, Peggy Guggenheim’s Art of This Century. The New York heiress’s museum and gallery opened in October 1942 with a landmark exhibition of Surrealist art, made iconic in the photographs taken of it by Berenice Abbott. Important works by Ernst, Duchamp, Giacometti, and Paul Delvaux were installed by Frederick Kiesler in a custom-designed interior. Paintings were hung projected on the ends of baseball bats, against radically concave wooden walls. Biomorphic furniture – Kiesler’s specially designed “seven-way units” – served as everything from sculpture pedestals to seating for viewers. What is not apparent from photographs of the exhibition are the kinetics: spotlights on timers flashed on several pictures simultaneously, while the rest were plunged into a darkness periodically pierced by the amplified sound effects of a train screaming through a tunnel. At the time, Levy was out of commission; he had enlisted in the army, and his gallery’s interests were being carried on at Durlacher Brothers by the dealer Kirk Askew, whose passions were the Baroque and Neo-Romanticism. (Upon Levy’s return to business, in March 1943, many of his artists, including one of his biggest sellers, Tchelitchew, would defect to Durlacher.) Guggenheim was the new Surrealist on the block, and her electrifying fun house blasted away most recollections of Levy’s elegantly curved white walls.[footnote=67]

    Art of This Century produced the next wave of change, in 1943, with a Spring Salon for Young Artists, selected by Barr, Duchamp, Mondrian, Soby, and others. This included work by a young painter who was visibly wrestling with what appeared now to be the European old guard of Surrealism. In November, at the bejest of her advisor Howard Putzel, Guggenheim gave Jackson Pollock his first one-artist show. The brochure essay by James Johnson Sweeney charged American painters to follow Pollock’s lead and “risk spoiling the canvas to say something in their own way.”[footnote=68] Clement Greenberg’s review saw in this artist an end to Picasso, Miró, and even Mexican mural painting as overpowering influences: American art had finally achieved a new, native influence.[footnote=69]

    Of course things are never that simple. The first artist of the New York School, Pollock, arrived at his innovations not, as Greenberg suggested, through esoteric study of “that American chiaroscuro that dominated Melville, Hawthorne, Poe… Blakelock and Rider,” but through avid appreciation of Surrealist automatism in the works of Matta, Ernst, and Gorky, those exiles from abroad who established themselves in New York through the Julien Levy Gallery. Levy opened at his final location in March 1943 with an exhibition of drawings by Matta (the Chilean artist’s second show at the gallery) and gave Gorky his first New York show there in March 1945. André Breton’s brochure essay for the latter, entitled “Eye-Spring” (after a complex metaphor of time that turns a watch spring into a “wire of maximum ductility” located inside an “opaque case”), echoed Sweeney’s claims for Pollock. In Gorky, too, there was “an art entirely new… the proof that only absolute purity of means… can empower a leap beyond the ordinary and known to indicate… a real feeling of liberty.” Yet while Pollock’s abstraction was being touted locally in terms of an emerging American cultural nationalism, Gorky’s was being advanced as a last victory organized by the general himself, Breton, who, allied with Levy, was determined to defend the dwindling ranks of Surrealism.

    In March 1947, Town & Country published a veiled portrait of the Julien Levy Gallery, written by a gallery assistant, Eleanor Perényl.[footnote=70] She plays “Frances” to Levy’s “Mr. Jellicoe,” a man who “generated a constant tension. With his pale, ascetic good looks, he made Frances think of a perpetually fallen angel.” Illustrated with a cartoon by Saul Steinberg, Perényl’s essay describes a day at the gallery during its declining years:

    Just now, they were in the doldrums… The opening had been successful. Mr. Jellicoe’s friends, who went to all the openings anyway, liked and understood the kind of dreams and magic he was so unsuccessful in selling to the general public. But in the next day or so, the atmosphere had slowly flattened. Boiled down, the sales amounted to one or two drawings, kept in a portfolio in the office, and an almost-sold small painting in the exhibition itself.

    Legacies and Monuments

    Peggy Guggenheim closed her gallery in May 1947, having given Pollock four solo exhibitions. Levy, who had given Gorky five solos, closed in 1949 (not quite a year after the artist’s suicide). Curiously, despite so many brilliant shows involving so many famous and infamous artists (to say nothing of writers, curators, dancers, filmmakers, and just plain personalities), Levy’s achievements have been subsumed by Peggy Guggenheim’s Art of This Century. Perhaps this is due to her quick, succinct transformation of her program, in just five seasons, from Surrealism into Abstract Expressionism. Levy, his former openness to possibilities notwithstanding, was adamantly a Surrealist to the end.

    Both Levy and Guggenheim were passionate collectors, but the scope of their acquisitions was distinctly different. Working with a string of advisors over the years (most notably, the English art historian Sir Herbert Read), Guggenheim amassed a world-class collection of modern art, primarily from the postwar period. In 1949 she opened the doors of her Venetian villa as a public museum. Levy’s vision for his legacy took form in the late 1970s with a proposed Center for Surrealist Studies of Alternative Thinking and Expanding Experience, whose nerve centers would be the Levy collection and library. He proposed the package as an endowment to the State University of New York, Purchase, where he was teaching a seminar, “Surrealism Is…” The Center called for an ambitious and imaginative interdisciplinary program, involving art (for a “Surrealist Contemplation Room,” students would create a “constantly changing exhibition of two separate surrealist paintings, one classic and one recent”); literature (“in connection with the French department the Center will undertake the translations of key surrealist works [to be] serialized in the Quarterly”); cultural studies (one planned symposium was on “The Image of Woman in Surrealist Art”); psychoanalytic studies (readings in Freud and Lacan); theater (staging Les Mamelles de Tirésias, Ubu Roi, and other plays); film and video (Buñuel, Cornell, and Hans Richter, as well as Robert Altman, Judy Chicago, and William Wegman). The program’s agenda set out to prove that, far from being dead, Surrealism had never lost its vitality. The course “Surrealist Behavior” would study “the development of certain actions as art,” from Arthur Cravan to Joseph Beuys.[footnote=71]

    The architecture and language of Levy’s proposal can be seen as elaborations of an earlier project undertaken with Ian Woodner Silverman for a Surrealist House, an installation for the 1939 New York World’s Fair. The 1970s Center proposal opens: “Step right up and get inside your mind, and meet yourself crossing the frontal LOBE… seeing is disbelieving. Conceive before you think.” The carnival barker likewise beckoned to the 1939 World’s Fair pavilion: a “’Funny House’ from a new angle,” featuring “whispers,” a “pneumatic wall,” “Hallucination,” and “Rocking Floors.” Upon reaching the top of an “Audible Staircase,” visitors would experience the “Sensation of Falling.”[footnote=72] This idea in particular (“the public will be catapulted”), with its specter of imminent lawsuits, may have discouraged Fair sponsors from adopting the plan. In any case, the house was replaced by Dalí’s Dream of Venus pavilion, with Levy in close collaboration as the artist’s dealer and representative in New York.[footnote=73]

    The Surrealist Center had no such apotheosis after the project was scrapped, for a murky complex of reasons.[footnote=74] Levy’s art went to his Connecticut home, upon his death in 1981, the bulk of his collection was dispersed at auction., leaving no marker or monument. There is one important exception. During the 1970s, Levy’s sleeping beauty of a photograph collection was acquired through purchase and gift by the Art Institute of Chicago. Amid the famous – Atget, Imogen Cunningham, Walker Evans, André Kertész, László Moholy-Nagy, Paul Strand – were the then virtually unknown Ilse Bing, Jacques-André Boiffard, Francis Bruguière, Lee Miller, Roger Parry, Emmanuel Sougez, Luke Swank, Maurice Tabard. (There was not a single print by Stieglitz.) For the curator, David Travis, researching the collection for the Institute’s 1976 exhibition was rewarding detective work that disclosed an alternative history of photography conditioned on the intervention of Surrealism and film.[footnote=75] With its original vision intact, Chicago’s Julien Levy Collection remains the dealer’s greatest legacy.

    Gentle Fadeout

    Balancing fashionable fare with less known works, offsetting shows that sold poorly with sure hits, Julien Levy kept his gallery in business for almost twenty years. During the Depression and then during wartime, with neither collectors nor cash in abundance throughout, it was necessary constantly to invent and reinvent a market. In this respect, Levy’s mercurial program, and his forays into decorative arts, commercial and portrait photography, and the entertainment industry, were resourceful efforts to keep his shop open. These activities also had the advantage of being newsworthy to the popular press. In addition to receiving constant notice in The Art Digest, The Art News, and The New York Times, the gallery received regular coverage in Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Life, Newsweek, and Time. The December 1940 exhibit of cartoonist Milton Caniff’s original drawings for Terry and the Pirates fetched full-page illustrated features in Life and Newsweek, both boasting of Terry’s tony affiliations with “the swank New York gallery of Julien Levy.”[footnote=76] There one was as likely to spot a Gorky as a Kahlo, a Cornell as a cartoon, a ballet dancer as a blindfolded chess champion, all participating in a transformative history of the gallery by “one of New York’s most fashionable art shops.”[footnote=77]

  • “In Advance of The Return of the Cadavre Exquis” The Return of the Cadavre Exquis, ed. Jane Philbrick. New York: The Drawing Center, 1993, pp. 15-23.

    In Advance of The Return of the Cadavre Exquis

     

    Le Cadavre exquis a                                            The Exquisite Corpse has 
    l’honneur de vous fair part                                the honor of inviting you
    de la réouverture de la                                       to the reopening of
    Galerie surréaliste                                               la Galerie surréaliste
    16, rue Jacques-Callot                                        at 16, rue Jaques-Callot
    qui aura lieu                                                         taking place
    le lundi 10 Octobre 1927                                    Monday, October 10, 1927
    à 3 heures de l’aprés-midi.                                at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.[footnote=1]

    Making one of his first appearances, le cadavre exquis was the subject of the reopening exhibition of la Galerie surréaliste, in Paris in 1927.[footnote=2] Had we attended this event, we would have experienced the surrealist movement in its heyday and found le cadavre exquis in his prime. An honored guest at any gathering, the Exquisite Corpse was the enfant terrible of surrealist games: a metamorphic being, cropping up not only at exhibitions but at café tables, in hotel rooms, even once strolling the Ramblas in Barcelona, where, artist Marcel Jean recollects, “crowds filled the café terraces until late at night, clapping hands to call the waiters so that we imagined that they were cheering us as we passed by.”[footnote=3]

    SURREALISM, n: Pure psychic automatism by whose means it is intended to express verbally, or in writing, or in any other manner, the actual functioning of thought. Dictation of thought, in the absence of all control by reason and outside of all aesthetic or moral preoccupations. -André Breton, Manifeste du surréalisme, 1924[footnote=4]

    Exquisite Corpse, among the most widely enjoyed of the surrealists’ many games, sought to unleash the unconscious in a merry chase of the imagination. Realized through automatic drawing, a technique–nearly synonymous with surrealism–which charted the irrational, unstoppable flow of words and images that channels through thought without conscious reflection, and assembled by chance, there is not a rational bone in le cadavre exquis. Culled from the minds of more than one individual, he emerged as though from a dream. Indeed the Corpse’s generally grotesque appearances bespoke an alternate beauty, of a harmony in rupture. As a figure of revolt that drew the surrealists together through collaboration, le cadavre exquis provided the common ground upon which these artists waged their assault on sobriety and logic.

    Since those youthful salad days, the Exquisite Corpse has retired to a relatively reclusive life amongst artist-friends and children-until April 1991 and “The Return of the Cadavre Exquis.” Opening this current round, The Drawing Center invited artists from all conceptual orientations, at all points in their careers, from all over the world to join in the game. As word the project spread, foundling corpses began to appear on The drawing Center’s doorstep. To date, the initial list of some two hundred participating artists now counts at least twelve hundred players, and their drawings number more than six hundred.

    Poetry must be made by all, not one. – compte de Lautréamont, Poesies [footnote=5]

    The cadavre is a single sheet of paper, divided according to the number of players into segments that roughly correspond to the human body, i.e. head/torso/legs for three players, or head/chest/trunk/legs for four players. Many artists introduced their own variations. Ellsworth Kelly (who first played cadavre exquis as a young artists knocking around Paris with the surrealists) and Win Knowlton made a four-part cadavre by playing two rounds each. Another tiny corpse was carved into ten small but satisfying portions. As the game is played, each artists, working in turns, completes a section and conceals the work before passing it on to the next artists. When all the sections are finished, the drawing is unfolded and the Exquisite Corpse is born.

    The cords that bind this present-day manifestation to the original Exquisite Corpse are only loosely in the hands of its originator, André Breton. The element of automatism–so critical to the original players and impossible to reproduce in any pure sense–is almost entirely absent today. Equally indistinct are surrealism’s claims to marry everyday reality and dreams, although the imagination still reigns supreme. Exerting their considerable presence on this most recent round are Marcel, Duchamp, with his conceptual approach to game-playing and object-making, and Georges Bataille, with his energetic aberrance for rules and taboos. Add to this skein of historical influences the contemporary threads of psychoanalysis, deconstruction, and anthropology–all closely bound to surrealist practice and worked into the complex analytical fabric of postmodernism.

    Art movements are simply not recursive. These new cadavres were not cultivated through cryogenics. Contemporary artists with their own inventive insights have participated to create a body of work which is vigorous and intuitive precisely because it is not corseted by the past. In lieu of the mainstays of Breton’s game comes an unprecedented expansion of the definition of drawing itself, a practice that now appears to encompass everything from pricking to poetry. What remains essential, because it can be replayed, is the game. Precisely because of its value as play, Exquisite Corpse continues to offer a means of sidestepping reason and foresight to move towards chance and unpredictability. Ultimately, as a collective revelation of artistics imagination, “The Return of the Cadavre Exquis” still answers André Breton’s eternal appeal to artists: “Speak according to the madness that has seduced you.”[footnote=6]

    Players of the contemporary game were at liberty to paint, paste, clip, jot, scribble, and sculpt according to their own predilections on paper.The were also encouraged to consider the “body” as a metamorphic point of departure. In Exquisite Landscape, a variation of cadavre exquis the surrealists took similar license.[footnote=7] Here, players contributed to a horizontal floe of objections and images that unfolded like a map onto psychic space or dream reality. Playing the game in 1975 with colleagues Anna Boetti and Roberto Lupo, Meret Oppenheim adapted the anatomy of the body (head/trunk/legs) to the structure of a chair (back/seat/legs) to create a series of unusual cadavre exquis.[footnote=8] Nevertheless, most of the contemporary cadavres exquis adhere to the conventional structure of the human body.

    As postmodernism’s most prevalent subject and site, the body has been used by contemporary artists to explore issues of identity and gender, public health and private pleasure. It is complicate realm, inscribed with sexual and cultural codes that catalogue human difference as opposed to universal experience. The body can no longer be mirrored in an impervious white model handed down from antiquity, nor in the hirsute primitive archetype called forth by modernity. Sweeping these old ideals aside, the Exquisite Corpse, with his collective and composite physique, flaunts a relevant contemporary image of the body.

    The cadavre is also an appealingly social creature. His appearance in the wake of recent political events stands to link members of a cultural community still reeling from battles over censorship and support. The conservative backlash against government aid for the arts–a curious election-time diversion from real moral and economic crisises–has left artists and the public each wary of the other’s capacity to appreciate or simply enjoy art. As he engages the art world at large in constructive creative act, the cadavre is a Pollyanna assembled by Dr. Frankenstein advocating the primacy of visual practice, however conceptual, in art.

    …(we studied) Mystery, Ancient and Modern, Seography, and the Drawling–The Drawling Master was an old conger eel that used to come in once a week: he taught us Drawling, Stretching and Fainting in coils. –”The Mock Turtle,” Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

    Participating artists were given the choice of either selecting their own partners or allowing The Drawing Center to choose for them. While the first option more closely matches the surrealist practice of sitting around a table with like-minded colleagues and passing round the cadavre exquis, the latter invites a further element of chance. Apparently some of the more intimate sessions really took off, as we received entire sheaves of cadavre exquis from some self-made groups. A number of artists played with their assistants, casting at least one studio into an uproar of anxiety until the game turned from an employee’s nightmare into an impromptu part. Approximately half of the players allowed The Drawing Center to select their partners for them. In general we aimed to create unified bodies, however discordant the parts.

    To facilitate the project, we created a Drawing Kit with a set of rules instructing artists how to play the game. Seemingly antithetical to artistic practice, rules can actually clear the way for chance and liberate the imagination. Playing within prescribed parameters, one surrenders the pull of reason to the pleasure of adhering to (and breaking) rules. Not surprising, we learned from some honestly dishonest players that many of the visual coincidences which occur in these drawings were not the outcome of what Breton divided to be “tacit communication–merely by waves–among the players.”[footnote=9] The riddles of concurrence are often signs of cheating. However, as Mary Ann Caws and Charles Simic each suggest in the essays which follow, bending the rules of chance is also part of the tradition of surrealist games.

    Included in the kit was a paper sleeve (printed with abridged guidelines) that concealed the nascent cadavre while disclosing a slender reveal. This edge, a perceptual point of orientation, served as a prompt or segue into the players’ unconscious. Two differently sized sheets of paper were provided, although artists could and did use their own supports. In one case this was sandpaper and in another a string of nineteenth-century maps. Drawing materials were even more various, including everything from lipstick to operative light-bulbs, from pot holders to x-rays. Likewise, applications coursed from stitchery to photography, from slashiing to burning. Several cadavres were machined with the aid of computers. And still, many unexpected images came by the traditional (graphic) route of pencil on paper.

    In New York, all the works generated by the “Cadavre Exquis” were exhibited at The Drawing Center and nearby gallery space. In addition, a selection of historic cadavre exquis were on view at The Drawing Center, including drawings by original players, Valentine Hugo, Marcel Jean, and Yves Tanguy. Latter-day cadavres by Joseph Beuys, Lucienne Bloch, Ted Joans, Frida Kahlo, Konrad Klapheck, Wifredo Lam, Roberto Matta, and Gerhard Richter, among others, attested to continuing vitality of the Exquisite Corpse.[footnote=10]

    Certainly, not all collaborations work. Simone Collinet wrote of the literary version of cadavre exquis that: “Some sentences took an aggressive. Let us not forget it.”[footnote=11] At The Drawing Center, this editorial apparatus did not come into play. Even with overwhelmingly exquisite results, the degrees of and reasons for the success of these collaborations are as diverse as any other aspect of the project. Some drawings are cursive and comic, other are rendered and wry, with the bizarre, horrifying, overwrought, satiric, disgusting, beautiful, fragile, boisterous, delicate, goofy, brutal feminist, misogynist, political, precious, and poignant all putting in appearances. As spectators, may we be ravished by the pleasures of looking at so many ways of seeing. Or, at least, mindful of André Breton’s charge, “Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will not be at all.”[footnote=12]