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Duchamp's "Luggage Physics": Art on the Move
*Dalia Judovitz <16.1bios.html#judovitz.bio> *
/Emory University/
djudovi@emory.edu
© <#copyright>2005 Dalia Judovitz.
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Besides, you know, all my work, literally and figuratively,
fits into a valise . . .
--Marcel Duchamp, 16 Dec. 1954
1. "Well, it had to come. How long will it last?" wondered Marcel
Duchamp in a letter to Katherine Dreier about the onset of World
War II following the invasion of Poland. "How will we come out of
it, if we come out of it?" At fifty-two, and thus too old for
military service, Duchamp envisaged doing "some civilian work to
help. What?? Everything is still a mess," he exclaimed. In Paris,
half deserted and in darkness, he was "waiting for the first bomb,
to leave for somewhere in the country."[1 <#foot1>] The eruption
of the war had Duchamp packing his bags again, just as he did
during World War I when he first came to America. In this period
he was producing materials for a box packed in a valise, a folding
exhibition space that would assemble reproductions of his artistic
corpus. Resembling a portable museum, The Box in a Valise
(1935-41) collected 69 miniature reproductions and replicas that
he intended to assemble in America.[2 <#foot2>] Traveling between
the unoccupied and occupied zones with a cheese dealer's pass in
the spring of 1941, Duchamp anxiously transported across the
German lines a large suitcase filled not with cheese, but with
materials for his boxes.[3 <#foot3>] The materials for assembly
and reproductions for fifty boxes were shipped off to New York in
1941 in two cases, along with Peggy Guggenheim's recently acquired
art collection, under the label "household goods." By 14 May 1942,
when Duchamp got his papers and headed from Marseilles to New
York, most artists and intellectuals had already left France; this
escape route would soon be cut off.[4 <#foot4>] Fleeing the
ravages of war in the nick of time, Duchamp would once again
assume the migrant condition inaugurated by his arrival to the
U.S. during World War I.
2. Duchamp's repeated attempts to take refuge from war reflected his
enduring aversion to militarism and patriotism. Speaking of the
reasons for his first migration to the U.S. during WWI, he stated:
"I had left France basically for lack of militarism. For lack of
patriotism, if you wish" (Cabanne 59). He held this conviction
throughout his life, although after WWII it was colored by
ambivalence and regret.[5 <#foot5>] Even as early as 1905, "being
neither militaristic nor soldierly," he availed himself of the
exemption of "art worker" by becoming a printer of engravings (the
other option was to be a typographer) in order to reduce his
military service (Cabanne 19-20). Duchamp's aversion to war
largely overlapped his discontent with art and his sense that he
was incompatible with its endeavors. In a letter to Walter Pach
(27 Apr. 1915), he notes the combined impact of war and art on his
decision to leave France:
For a long time and even before the war, I have disliked this
"artistic life" in which I was involved.--It is the exact
opposite of what I want. So I tried to somewhat escape from
the artists through the library. Then during the war, I felt
increasingly more incompatible with this milieu. I absolutely
wanted to leave. (Duchamp, Amicalement 40)
His disenchantment with art is based on its exclusive cultivation
of visual aspects (what he called the "retinal") to the detriment
of intellectual expression. Trapped by professional and market
pressures that left artists to merely repeat themselves by copying
and multiplying a few ideas, he actively sought to escape. War
appears to have exacerbated this rising disaffection with art and
with the artistic milieu by bringing it to a crisis. However, the
challenge of implementing his decision to leave both war and art
behind and the questions this decision raises gained renewed
urgency upon the eruption of WWII.
3. Does the production of The Box in a Valise during World War II
attest to an attempt to take refuge in art by stepping out of
history? Walter Arensberg, Duchamp's sometime patron and friend,
commented in 1943 that the retrospective history that the Box
constructs through the monograph-like compilation of Duchamp's
works suggests that he became the "puppeteer" of his past by
inventing a "new kind of autobiography."[6 <#foot6>] Arensberg's
contention that Duchamp would resort to the creation of personal
myth by artistically manipulating his past, however, is hard to
reconcile with Duchamp's denunciation of autobiography: "I flatly
refuse to write an autobiography. It has always been a hobby of
mine to object to the written, I, I, I's on the part of the
artist" (Hulten 28 June 1965). Duchamp objected to autobiography's
excessive reliance on the "I" as supreme referent because it
consolidates and aggrandizes authorial identity, instead of
putting it into question as he had done in his works. His refusal
to write an autobiography suggests that his endeavor in the The
Box in a Valise may not be simply an effort to manipulate and
reclaim past history in artistic terms. Marked by traumatic
dislocation, this work is symptomatic of Duchamp's attempt to
respond to historical events whose magnitude can no longer find
refuge in art. In this essay, I argue that The Box in a Valise
affirms the vulnerability of art in the face of catastrophic
change. Rather than representing a step out of history, The Box in
a Valise reflects the realization that the production of art and
the position of the artist would have to change in response to
traumatic historical events. In the face of global war, neither
art nor the artist can offer salvation, that is, the pretense to
reclaim, in the guise of art, historical events that have
shattered the frames of reference for human experience.
War Refugee and/or Art Refugee?
4. Drafted, but found to be "too /sick/ to be a soldier" (he had a
heart murmur), Duchamp was "condemned to remain a civilian for the
entire duration of the war," a decision he was not too unhappy
about (Duchamp, Amicalement 37). Unable to tolerate the rising
patriotic fever of the war along with the rising pitch of the
artistic dogmas of the day, notably Cubism, Duchamp arrived in New
York on 15 June 1915. In the "Special Feature" section of The New
York Tribune (12 September 1915), he reflects on the unique nature
of the trauma and grief engendered by the First World War in order
to comment on its irremediable impact on the production of art.
Referring to Cubism as a "prophet of the war," he concludes: "for
the war will produce a severe, direct art." He claims that there
would be a major shift in sensibility due to the immensity of the
scale of suffering brought on by war, and ascribes the emergence
of this "severe, direct art" to the hardness of feeling in Europe,
due to the experience of a new kind of grief whose magnitude no
longer seemed to concern any one individual. He explains:
One readily understands this when one realizes the growing
hardness of feeling in Europe, one might almost say the utter
callousness with which people are learning to receive the news
of the death of those nearest and dearest to them. Before the
war the death of a son in a family was received with utter,
abject woe, but today it is merely part of a huge universal
grief, which hardly seems to concern any one individual.
(Hulten 12 Sept. 1915)
Duchamp's remarks elucidate the nature of the trauma of the First
World War by pointing out the extent to which the personal sense
of loss was supplanted by a universal grief beyond representation.
The problem is not that people became more callous, but that they
were no longer able to claim their personal grief and suffering in
the face of events whose magnitude shattered the very framework of
human experience. Thus his comments suggest that the nature and
fate of art in the wake of the traumatic experience of World War I
would have to change. But in what sense and how would these
developments impact his work?
5. Duchamp's personal observations regarding his first migration to
America provide some interesting clues. In an article, "French
Artists Spur on American Art" (24 Oct. 1915), Duchamp notes the
impact of the war: "Art has gone dusty . . . Paris is like a
deserted mansion. Her lights are out. One's friends are all away
at the front. Or else they have been already killed." The foment
of artistic activities and exchanges was exhausted, weighed down
by talk about the war: "Nothing but war was talked about from
morning until night. In such an atmosphere, especially for one who
holds war to be an abomination, it may readily be conceived that
existence was heavy and dull." As far as painting is concerned, he
writes, "it is a matter of indifference to me where I am." He
concludes that he is so happy to be in New York, "for I have not
painted a single picture since coming over" (Hulten 24 Oct. 1915).
Duchamp's expressed indifference to his location reflects the
indifference he appears to have developed to painting as a whole,
since he stopped painting upon his arrival in the United States.
Thus it would seem that for Duchamp art had gone dusty not just in
the ateliers of Paris affected by the war, but more generally, as
a pursuit that he would suspend and subsequently leave behind.
6. Does the refuge that Duchamp sought from the war coincide with the
freedom that he had been seeking not just from painting but also
from art as a whole? A closer look at his activities since 1913
onwards reveals his emergent interest in the readymades on the one
hand, and the development of his ideas for The Bride Stripped Bare
by her Bachelors, Even or The Large Glass (1915-1923) on the
other. These projects reflect his efforts to move away from a
purely visual idea of painting toward an understanding of art as
intellectual expression.[7 <#foot7>] Playfully fudging the
distinction between ordinary and art objects through mechanical
reproduction, the readymades expose through this redundancy the
conceptual and institutional premises that encase the designation
of objects as art. The Large Glass reassembles and reproduces
earlier pictorial studies on glass, stripping painting bare of its
visual vestments by rendering it transparent. Using various
techniques of reproduction to "dry" up its pictorial content,
Duchamp postpones the intent of its pictorial and artistic
becoming. By laying bare its conditions of possibility, he
challenges the idea of painting and by extension art. Thus, while
Duchamp's refuge from World War I resulted in the suspension of
his activities as a painter, it also seems to have provided the
freedom to rethink the nature and destiny of art. Consistent with
his claim that there is "nothing static about his manner of
working," his departure inaugurated a new beginning: "I have never
deceived myself into thinking that I have at length hit upon the
ultimate expression. In the midst of each epoch I fully realize
that a new epoch will dawn" (Hulten 24 Oct. 1915).
Voyage Sculptures: The Physics of Baggage
7. Among Duchamp's readymades produced after his arrival in New York
in 1915 was his first portable work entitled Traveler's Folding
Item (1916, New York) (see Figure 1).
Figure 1
*Figure 1: Traveler's Folding Item, 1916 (1964 edition)*
Gift of Mary Sisler Foundation, Collection of John and Mable
Ringling Museum of Art,
The State Art Museum of Florida
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris
This Underwood typewriter cover was lost, with no photo left of
the original, and was recreated in miniature in 1940 for inclusion
in The Box in a Valise. What is notable about this
little-discussed work is the centrality of its assigned position
in the Box. Displayed between Paris Air and Fountain, it is
aligned with the bar that separates the upper and lower portions
of The Large Glass.[8 <#foot8>] Does the portable and folding
nature of this work imply a reflection on The Box in a Valise as
folding exhibition case? Its portability, like that of the valise,
implies freedom of display outside the confines of the museum,
while its flexibility and hence capacity for folding opens up new
ways of thinking about the nature of art objects. This work stands
out among Duchamp's readymades because it interrogates the
pretensions to solidity associated with sculpture by introducing
the "idea of softness": "I thought it would be a good idea to
introduce softness in the Ready-made--in other words not
altogether hardness--porcelain, iron, or things like that--why not
use something flexible as a new shape--changing shape, so that's
why the typewriter cover came into existence."[9 <#foot9>] But
Duchamp does more than just introduce softness into the readymade,
since the cover's flexibility undermines in effect its ability to
stand up as an object in its own right. The changing nature of the
cover's shape (whether folded or unfolded) is determined by its
use and activation by an agent.
8. Traveler's Folding Item points to the typewriter it hides from
view, a reference reinforced by the verbal cue of the brand name
"Underwood" on the cover. When Walter Hopps asked him about this
work, Duchamp responded: "Oh, it is removed from its machine"
(Camfield 110). Hidden under the "skirts" of the cover is not just
any ordinary object, but a writing machine (/machine à
écrier/).[10 <#foot10>] While not particularly worthy of being
looked at, the absent typewriter alludes to the mental and verbal
processes involved in the production of readymades. These include
the choice and determination of the object's modes of display,
along with the use of poetic or punning titles that add
"intellectual color." But as Duchamp specifies, this "cerebral
colour" "adds not in the way of intellectualism, but in the way
you make another frame to a painting" (Hulten 19 Oct. 1949). Its
function is to reframe the work, opening up a new way for seeing
and understanding it. Portable by nature and not quite an object
in its own right, this flexible case adapts itself to
circumstance, thus relinquishing claims to stability both of form
and of meaning. This work is doubly interactive, not only because
it derives its meaning by association with another object, but
also because it requires the intervention of the
spectator/producer for its activation in its various conditions.
If the readymades were a way of demonstrating the "cover-up"
involved in the framing and thus packaging of objects as works of
art, Traveler's Folding Item lifts that cover to revel in the
absence of the object, the implied institutional gestures that
underwrite its artistic existence and display. Unfolding and
suspending the conventions that encase the traditional definition
of art objects in the confines of the museum, this portable work
anticipates Duchamp's folding exhibition project, The Box in a
Valise.
9. Following America's entry into World War I in 1917 and his
classification for military duty as a foreigner, Duchamp set off
in 1918 for the neutrality of Argentina. Having left France in
1915 for his lack of militarism and patriotism, he had now "fallen
into American patriotism, which certainly was worse" (Cabanne 59).
He packed in his bags Sculpture for Traveling (New York; object
disintegrated; dimensions variable) (see Figure 2), a portable
piece made from colored rubber bathing caps cut into irregular
strips and glued together into a flexible lattice.
Figure 2
*Figure 2: Sculpture for Traveling, 1918*
Philadelphia Museum of Art: Marcel Duchamp Archive,
Gift of Jacqueline, Peter and Paul Matisse in memory of their
Mother Alexina Duchamp.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, N. Y. /ADGP Paris
Attached with variable lengths of string to the four corners of
his studio, this "multi-colored spider's web" (Hulten 8 July 1918)
lacks the solidity of statuary since the "form was /ad libitum/"
(Cabanne 59). Its variable shape and dimensions can adapt to its
conditions of display. Duchamp may have chosen to use strips of
bathing caps not just because of their elasticity, but also
because they allude playfully to the head. The inscription of a
mental dimension in the work is particularly important to Duchamp,
given his efforts to challenge a purely visual understanding of
painting and art. The analogy of this work to a "spider's web"
hides a reference to painting, since the French word for a
spider's web (/toile d'arraignée/) also refers to the pictorial
canvas (/toile/). Dispensing with the idea of painting, the
suspension of this web of strings only retained the protocols of
its display. Suspended like a spider's web, Sculpture for
Traveling lay in wait ready to entrap unwitting spectators by
impeding their ability to walk around the room (Cabanne 59). The
unfolding of this work in space obstructs the "habitual movement
of the individual around the contemplated object" (Hulten 26 June
1955), thus disrupting notions of exhibition display. Providing an
"antidote" to painting and sculpture, the economy of means and
portability of Sculpture for Traveling exposes and challenges the
defining conventions for both the production and consumption of
works of art. While alluding to his efforts to take refuge from
war once again, this work marks his refusal to take refuge in art
by rethinking and redefining its nature.
10. In 1942 Duchamp produced a modified version of this work in an
installation format, using the idea of entangled strings minus the
bathing caps. Sixteen Miles of String (see Figure 3) was presented
in the First Papers of Surrealism Exhibition organized by André
Breton and Marcel Duchamp (referred to as his "twine") for the
Coordinating Council for French Relief Societies in New York, 14
Oct.-7 Nov. 1942.
Figure 3
* Figure 3: Sixteen Miles of String, 1942. *
Philadelphia Museum of Art: Marcel Duchamp Archive,
Gift of Jacqueline, Peter and Paul Matisse in memory of their
Mother Alexina Duchamp.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, N. Y. /ADGP Paris.
For now, this analysis will focus on the installation before
proceeding to discuss the exhibition's circumstances, catalog, and
opening in more detail. The most notable consideration framing
this work is that it was set up to benefit the war relief efforts.
The setting for this exhibition was the ornate Whitelaw Reid
mansion (ca. 1880s), with its gilded decorations and painted
ceilings. This ostentatious and dated setting was out of line not
only with the "modernity" of the works displayed but also with the
events surrounding the display. Transposing his intervention in
Sculpture for Traveling to the public sphere, Duchamp constructed
an elaborate web of entangled strings that crisscrossed the
exhibition space, obscuring individual works as well as impeding
the spectator. By posing a physical impediment, the entangled
strings hindered the spectators' efforts to see the paintings.
Reflecting his earlier attempts to keep painting and its retinal
seduction at bay, this work reframed the conditions for the
display and consumption of art. Given the context of WWII, these
attempts at obstructing art took on added resonance.
11. Not surprisingly, the artists exhibiting their works were less
than sanguine about this disruption of the conditions for viewing
their works.[11 <#foot11>] As Duchamp recalled, his gesture
attracted their concern and ire: "Some painters were actually
disgusted with the idea of having their paintings back of lines
like that, thought nobody would see their paintings."[12
<#foot12>] Did Duchamp's "harassment of the spectators" disguise
the harassment of his fellow artists' works, as Brian O'Doherty
(a.k.a. Patrick Ireland) contends (72)? It is important to keep in
mind that his intervention took on not other artists' works, but
rather the conditions of their display. This disruption of
aesthetic contemplation reframed the spectators' experience of the
exhibition as an event which was no longer about the business of
art as usual. Moreover, on the exhibition's opening night,
children solicited and instructed by Duchamp played in the
galleries, throwing balls and creating havoc. Countermanding the
anachronism of the setting and challenging the conventions of art,
this installation staged the possibility of its own annulment. By
barring access and obscuring visibility, the crisscrossing strings
marked a /de facto/ cancellation of the show as a purely visual
event. Resembling a giant cobweb, this installation commented on
the obsoleteness of art gone dusty in the midst of war, along with
its modes of display.[13 <#foot13>] Sixteen Miles of String
exposed the institutional premises (or "strings") attached to the
display and consumption of art that secured the myth of its
immutability. It is precisely this entanglement or trap that The
Box in a Valise avoids since its tangibility, mutability, and
portability challenge both the idea of art and the immobilizing
foreclosure of the museum.
Canned Goods
12. Referring to The Box in a Valise, Duchamp inquired where he should
send his "canned goods" (Hulten 23 Feb. 1941). It would seem that
in addition to his earlier efforts to "can chance," he had now
"canned" reproductions of his works in a box. This idea of
gathering reproductions of his works in a box is new, although
Duchamp had already began producing compilations of his notes as
early as 1914. As he noted however, at the time "I didn't have the
idea of a box as much as just notes" (Cabanne 42). The Box of 1914
(see Figure 4) is a Kodak photographic box containing sixteen
photos of manuscript pages of notes and a drawing.[14 <#foot14>]
Figure 4
*Figure 4: The Box of 1914, Closed View. *
Philadelphia Museum of Art, Gift of Mme. Marcel Duchamp.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, N.Y./ ADAGP, Paris
These allusions to photography as a medium for mass reproduction
parallel Duchamp's emergent interest in questions of
reproducibility and the multiple, which became the explicit
content of his readymades. Reproducing disparate fragments of
Duchamp's mental musings, these notes "can" his thought processes
as counterparts to the physical production of art.[15 <#foot15>]
His comments on The Green Box (1934) (see Figure 5) reiterate the
notion of compilation (the equivalent of a Sears, Roebuck catalog)
with the caveat that this catalogue was to be consulted when
seeing the Glass "because . . . it must not be 'looked at' in the
aesthetic sense of the word" (Cabanne 42-43).
Figure 5
*Figure 5: The Green Box, 1934. *
Philadelphia Museum of Art: Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris.
This conjunction removed the "retinal aspect" by disrupting the
aesthetics of the "look," that is to say a purely visual
consumption of art (Hulten 16 Oct. 1934). In his discussion of The
Box in a Valise, Duchamp explained that he found a "new form of
expression": "Instead of painting something the idea was to
reproduce the paintings that I loved so much in miniature. I
didn't know how to do it. I thought of a book, but I didn't like
the idea" (Duchamp, Writings 136).[16 <#foot16>] His remarks
indicate that the Valise represents not just an alternative to
painting, but a new form of expression that relies on miniature
reproduction but is not assimilable to a book. Unfettered by the
logic of the book that freezes representation into a regulated
succession of static images, Duchamp's box encased in a valise
provides a dynamic and interactive space for the assemblage of his
works. Does Duchamp merely repeat himself through a strategy of
self-quotation? Or does he discover through The Box in a Valise a
new way of thinking about art by redefining notions of artistic
making?
13. The process of reproducing and assembling his portable boxes
proved to be painstaking and time consuming. Duchamp had to travel
in order to retrieve information regarding the color tones of the
originals. Lost objects were reproduced with the aid of
photographs, and he even had to repurchase a work in order to
reproduce it. In the case of the typewriter cover, where both the
original and the photo were lost, he had a miniature replica made
that now became an original. The Valise also made available
through reproduction works unavailable for viewing because they
were in private collections. Shying away from readily available
reproduction techniques, he resorted to older, more time-consuming
methods using collotype printing and hand colored stencils. Since
he delegated the actual handwork involved in the production of the
replicas to various artisanal workshops, his intervention
consisted of preparing the materials for reproduction by spelling
out and then supervising the successive steps to be followed.
According to Ecke Bonk, "he broke down his originals into separate
graphic steps and had them reassembled as reproduction" (20).[17
<#foot17>] His analytic breakdown of "original" works in order to
generate directives for their re-assemblage as replicas redefined
the issues raised by mechanical reproduction in the case of the
readymades. In The Box in a Valise Duchamp takes to task the
conventional understanding of mechanical reproduction through the
laborious hand reproduction of works which undermine and blur the
distinction between an original and its replica, the unique and
the multiple. Alluding to his discovery of the readymades, he
playfully reappropriates and restages his earlier gestures,
thereby relying on a notion of making whose unartistic character
postpones its possibility of becoming art.
Unpacking the Museum?
14. One of the most noteworthy aspects of The Box in a Valise (see
Figure 6) is that it appears to function as a miniaturized
collection and museum-like retrospective of Duchamp's works.
Figure 6
*Figure 6: The Box in a Valise, 1941. *
Philadelphia Museum of Art: The Louise and Walter Arensberg
Collection.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris
He first described the idea for this project to Katherine Dreier
in March of 1935: "I want to make, sometime an album of
approximately all the things I have produced" (Affectionately
197). Initially he thought of assembling them in a book, but then
"I thought of the idea of a box in which all my works would be
mounted like in a small museum, a portable museum, so to speak,
and here it is in this valise" (Duchamp, Writings 136). The
monographic and retrospective character of the box playfully
alludes to the institution of the museum in the guise of a
portable collection presented as a collectible item. But does this
collection of reproductions of his works merely reinforce, or
rather, mimic the museum in order to expose its institutional
logic? In response to Katherine Dreier's idea of turning her house
into a museum, he remarked that keeping together the paintings and
sculptures she has collected is to him "more important than
thinking of a Monument or any grandiose form of doing it" (Hulten
24 Aug. 1937). Duchamp's comment indicates that his idea of
collection as a context that frames the totality of a body of work
is independent of notions of institutional aggrandizement. In a
letter to Walter Pach (28 Sept. 1937), Duchamp explains that he
would like to see his painting join its "brothers and sisters in
California," rather than be subject to speculation by being
scattered about. He added that he is certain that Arensberg, like
himself, "intends making it a coherent whole" (Affectionately
216). His idea of amassing his works in a collection involves an
appeal to their contextual coherence suggests the iterative and
interrelated character of these works. The collection of miniature
reproductions in The Box in a Valise functions as an antidote to
the institutional logic of the museum by creating an alternative
exhibition context where visual consumption is undermined through
interactivity and play.[18 <#foot18>] Rather than merely
presenting a retrospective record of his works, the Valise will
subvert the idea of art through strategies of reproduction and
mimicry that will challenge notions of authenticity and display
associated with the museum.
15. Upon opening the leather case of the valise, the viewer discovers
a box whose lid lifts up to reveal the assembled miniature
reproductions. Across the celluloid transparency of The Large
Glass one can see other works, which are only brought into view
once the sliding partitions on both sides are pulled out. The
exhibition space requires the intervention of the spectator for
its activation; its unfolding delays the immediacy of visual
consumption. This work's tangibility challenges the museum's
interdiction of touch, mediating visual access through an
interactive process analogous to play. Undermining the
institutional premises of exhibition display based on distance and
passive viewing, this work does not invite the spectator but
indeed requires him or her to give a hand in its "making."
Postulating appropriation as the only mode of access to this work,
Duchamp redefines the position of the viewer by actively engaging
him or her in the production of meaning. The prominent display of
The Large Glass, flanked on the left by three readymades, Paris
Air, Traveler's Folding Item, and Fountain, underlines their
shared significance in challenging retinal art through unartistic
forms of expression.[19 <#foot19>] The left sliding panel unfolds
to reveal two reproductions of paintings that mark the passage or
transition to the Glass, thereby hiding from view Nude Descending
a Staircase No. 2 which had been instrumental in establishing
Duchamp's artistic reputation. By foregrounding these preparatory
studies leading to the Glass along with the readymades, and by
obstructing the view of his celebrated Nude, he redirects the
viewer's gaze away from painting. This effort to downplay painting
can also be seen in his choice of stacking the reproductions of
his paintings on top of each other in the bottom part of the box,
thereby impeding visual access.
16. The sliding panel on the right displays on the bottom 9 Malic
Moulds, another preparatory study for the Glass, and on the top,
Tu'm, an assemblage or compendium of shadows of readymades, in
conjunction with the transparent Glider, and Comb, a readymade. By
presenting an assemblage of his preparatory studies for the Glass,
along with the compilation of readymades in Tu'm, this section
draws our attention to the notion of compilation as a guiding
principle not just for the Glass, but for the Valise as a whole.
It suggests that the meaning of represented objects can only be
addressed as a context of embedded gestures. The privilege
accorded to the display of Comb may be explained by its French
title "/peigne/," which is the subjunctive form of the verb to
paint, "I ought to or should paint." Thierry de Duve observes that
Comb refers both to the impossibility and to the possibility of
painting, since while doomed by industrialization it retains a
conceptual potential whose affirmation entails the postponement of
its pictorial "happening" (115). Comb thus alludes to Duchamp's
dilemma as an artist who sought to move beyond a retinal
understanding of art, the obligatory "I ought or should paint,"
toward its conceptual redefinition through unartistic modes of
production capitalizing on notions of reproduction and mimicry. As
Duchamp pointedly notes: "I am not a painter in perpetuity and
since generals no longer die in the saddle, painters are no longer
obliged to die at their easel" (Hulten 29 Oct. 1958).
17. On bottom left of the case there is a foldout photograph of Three
Standard Stoppages (1913-14), which Duchamp designates as an
instance of "canned chance." Recording the accidental shapes
produced by three meter long strings (dropped from the height of
one meter on three canvases painted in blue), he fixed them in
glue, cut them into strips and affixed the resulting impressions
on glass plates which served as molds for the preparation of three
wooden templates. By resorting to these various strategies of
reproduction he conceptually drew upon the plastic potential of
chance as generator of variable shapes. Thus his efforts to "can"
chance by recording and reproducing its contingencies ends up not
just preserving the past, but strategically redeploying its
manifestations. This work illuminates his particular claims for
reproduction in the Valise, understood not just as mere
replication of his past works, but as a new strategy for making
that can no longer be assimilated to art. Commenting on the
readymade, Duchamp noted that its significance lies precisely in
its "lack of uniqueness," a message that is also delivered by the
"replica of a readymade" (Duchamp, Writings 142). While his
original readymades were products of mechanical reproduction, the
replicas in the Valise were hand-made using traditional
techniques: The Box in a Valise thus questions the notion of
uniqueness attached to a work of art through reproduction, be it a
mechanical or artisanal process. By exploring the logic of the
multiple as a new horizon, Duchamp uncovers the conceptual
potential of reproduction using replication and mimicry to
undermine notions of artistic production. Challenging the idea of
art and the institution of the museum, the Valise stands as an
affirmation of freedom. While drawing on Duchamp's prior
interventions, this nomadic work does not recover the past as an
object of nostalgia or autobiographical self-reference. Rather
than reclaiming past history, The Box in a Valise opens up a
transition toward new forms of making no longer reducible to art.
Luggage Tags
18. The leather-bound copies of The Box in a Valise bear the
intriguing hand-lettered signature "of or by Marcel Duchamp and
Rrose Sélavy." Rrose Sélavy was Duchamp's female alter ego who
began to sign or co-sign his ready-mades starting in 1920. She
made her physical appearance in a photograph by Man Ray (1921) of
Duchamp in female masquerade (see Figure 7).
Figure 7
*Figure 7: Rrose Sélavy, 1921.*
Philadelphia Museum of Art: The Samuel S. White, 3rd, and Vera
White Collection.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, N.Y./ADAGP, Paris
This doubling of the artist as himself and/or his female other
challenges the myth of the artist as unique creator and recasts
the gesture of artistic making as an appropriative, rather than
originary act. For Duchamp the aesthetic result is a phenomenon
that involves two poles, since the picture is made as much by the
onlooker as by the artist (Hulten 13 Jan. 1961). By redefining
artistic making as an active interchange, he opens up the
appropriation of the Valise not just to Rrose Sélavy, but to the
spectator as well.[20 <#foot20>] This attempt to activate and
reauthorize the position of spectatorship can be seen in his
birthday gift to Ettie Stettheimer of a set of luggage tags
complete with string. Bearing Rrose's alias and Duchamp's address,
this tag bears in lieu of its destination the phrase: "Ettie who
are: YOU FOR ME?" (Hulten 30 July 1922). The query regarding
identity, and its redeployment through the interchange of "YOU"
and "ME," extend a playful invitation that the Valise enacts
insofar as it requires activation by the spectator. But in The Box
in a Valise, Duchamp did not just question the institution of
authorship, since in addition to assuming the role of producer of
reproductions executed by others he also emerged as collector,
curator, and archivist of his works. Undermining the position of
the artist as originating agency, he subsumed under the guise of
producer a plurality of forms of agency, which conventionally are
associated with different professional entities and activities.[21
<#foot21>] By blurring the institutional and professional
distinctions that sustain the autonomy of these roles as
underwritten by the institution of the museum, he successfully
challenges in the Valise the cultural presuppositions that
underlie the definition both of the artist and of the production
of art.
Baggage Claims?
19. Trapped by the increased violence and widening scope of WWII,
while attempting to supervise the production of and retrieve the
materials for The Box in a Valise, Duchamp made his last-minute
escape from war-ravaged France on 14 May 1942. Shortly after his
arrival in New York in June, he was asked to help organize a
Surrealist group show for the benefit of the war relief efforts
sponsored by the Coordinating Council for French Relief Societies.
The money raised was to be used for supplies for French prisoners
and for the adoption of French children orphaned by the war. In
addition to participating with André Breton in organizing the
exhibition, he presented the installation Sixteen Miles of String
discussed earlier. He also worked with Breton on the conception of
the exhibition catalog First Papers of Surrealism (see Figure 8)
and designed its covers.[22 <#foot22>]
Figure 8
*Figure 8: Covers of First Papers of Surrealism, 1942. *
Front cover on the right, back cover on the left.
Philadelphia Museum of Art: Louise and Walter Arensberg Archives.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, NY/ADAGP, Paris
The front cover depicted a photographic close-up of the crumbling
wall of his fellow artist Kurt Seligman's barn bearing the bullet
traces of Duchamp's rifle shots reproduced as perforations (Hulten
14 Oct. 1942). This "shooting" event took place in the context of
an outdoor party attended by friends and other Surrealist
artists.[23 <#foot23>] While alluding to the violence of war, this
photograph records the impact of a simulated event akin to an "art
performance." In the midst of the war, when images of destruction
were readily available, why did Duchamp resort to this strategy of
simulation? Instead of appropriating ready-made images, he relied
on a photographic "shot" of the damage inflicted by his shooting.
Punning on the violence implied in "shooting" (since "shooting"
refers both to bullet and to photographic "shots"), Duchamp
introduces a cautionary note in regard to photography's and art's
potential for violence in attempting to represent the impact of
the war.
20. The back cover shows a close-up photo of a slab of Gruyère cheese
pockmarked with holes and stamped over with the title and details
of the exhibition. The absurdity of the juxtaposition of the
bullet-ridden wall with a slab of cheese is at first shocking. Is
it simply a bad joke on the absurdity of war? Keeping in mind the
circumstances of Duchamp's recent escape from the war, this back
cover may well allude to the cheese dealer's pass Duchamp used to
transport the materials and reproductions for the The Box in a
Valise across enemy lines. If so, this allusion would underline
the absurdity of his efforts to retrieve his "valises," which
marked his refuge and renunciation of making art. The
juxtaposition of bullet shots and cheese may be a visual pun,
suggesting that the holes in the cheese may have resulted from its
being shot.[24 <#foot24>] If so, this may be yet another way to
figure the potential damage of photography in attempting to
"shoot" the effects of war. The only mention of war in the
catalogue, to Düsseldorf having been repeatedly bombed, is not
accompanied by a photograph. Thus while alluding to the violence
of war, the front and back covers also point to the dangers
implied in the attempt to take refuge in its photographic and/or
artistic representation.
21. The exhibition catalog includes Duchamp's "Compensation Portrait"
(1942) (see Figure 9), a reproduction of Ben Shahn's photograph
(ca. 1935-41) of a haggard and care-worn woman in rural America
during the Great Depression with the caption "Marcel Duchamp"
below.[25 <#foot25>]
Figure 9
*Figure 9: Marcel Duchamp's "Compensation Portrait"
First Papers of Surrealism Catalogue, 1942*
Philadelphia Museum of Art: Collection Mme. Duchamp.
© 2005 Succession Marcel Duchamp ARS, NY/ADAGP, Paris
Suggested by Duchamp and Breton, the idea of "compensation
portraits" mandated that participating artists choose the
photograph of an unknown person to represent them. The rationale
presented was as follows: "not being able to offer an entirely
adequate photographic image of each of the principal exhibitors,
we have thought it best here to resort to the general scheme of
'compensation portraits.'" Why did the exhibition's organizers
resort to this unusual compensation scheme? Was their inability to
represent the exhibitors adequately also a reflection on the
inadequacy of photography's claims to representation? Referring to
the ongoing war, the catalog dryly states: "Circumstances made it
impossible for us to represent properly or by their most recent
works a number of artists." The list of artists that follows
(grouped by country, not always of origin but sometimes of refuge)
documents the absence, inaccessibility, or displacement of artists
and/or their works from the sphere of artistic activity. Deprived
of their national identity and expropriated of their worldly goods
including their art, many of these artists were on the run. Thus
Duchamp's and Breton's failure to represent certain artists or
recent works served to mark both art's vulnerability in the face
of war and its inability to compensate for damages incurred. While
set up as a "benefit" in order to generate funds for the "relief"
of French prisoners and orphans, this exhibition could neither
relieve the damages incurred nor compensate for the losses suffered.
22. A closer look at Duchamp's "Compensation Portrait" reveals
Duchamp's playful reflection on the potential dangers implied in
artistic attempts to lay claim to traumatic events. In letting
Shahn's photograph stand in lieu of his own semblance, Duchamp
does not so much appropriate the "portrait" of another person as
Shahn's claim to "portray" the ravages of the Great Depression. In
so doing, he demonstrates that Shahn's photographic "claim" to
represent this painful epoch (in the guise of an anonymous woman's
ravaged complexion) cannot be secured. His photograph is open to
appropriation, and hence to the possibility of betrayal of its
author and of its intended meaning. Drawing on the purpose of this
art exhibition as a benefit to raise funds for the "adoption" of
French children orphaned by war, Duchamp strategically redeploys
this notion of adoption to rethink the nature of art in the face
of war. Adoption means taking as one's own what is not "naturally"
so; in the case of a child orphaned by war, adoption secures the
legal recognition of the child's history through the assignment of
a new surname and hence a new identity. The child's assumption of
a different name marks the traumatic loss of the parents,
designating a damage that cannot be claimed but only passed on as
an event beyond compensation. Thus by "adopting" Shahn's
photograph as if it were an "orphan," and reissuing it under his
own name, Duchamp acknowledges its traumatic history without
claiming to represent it. In so doing, he demonstrates that his
strategies of appropriation do not lead to the consolidation but
rather to the dissemination of the self and to the postponement of
identity.
23. Overlapping with the dates that frame the idea and execution of
The Box in a Valise (1935-41), Marcel Duchamp's "Compensation
Portrait" substitutes an American, aged, impoverished, and
worn-down feminine semblance for the seductively French, feminine,
and gay co-signatory of The Box in a Valise, Rrose Sélavy.
Sporting an American identity authorized by another artist, this
new persona in the guise of a "compensation portrait" attests to a
traumatic history that can no longer be claimed in the name of art
and of the artist. As Duchamp later explained: "You see art never
saved the world. It cannot" (Hulten 8 Sept. 1966). Challenging
aestheticism, particularly the idea of the cultivation of art for
its own sake, he underlines the inability of art to save the
world. However, while art cannot offer redemption by transcending
the brutality of war, this fundamental limitation does not mean
that all attempts at making must cease at once and forever.
Recalling Duchamp's choice in 1905 to avail himself of the option
of becoming an "art worker," instead of fulfilling his regular
military service, and his subsequent concerted efforts to produce
works that draw upon but are no longer reducible to art, we can
begin to understand that he could go on working without falling
into the trap of making art. Declaring his affinity to craft
rather than to art, his strategic use and deployment of
handcrafted reproductions aligns him with modes of production
associated with craftsmen rather than with artists. Decrying the
relatively recent "invention" and individuation of the "artist,"
he privileges a notion of "making" whose meaning cannot be
exhausted by art: "We're all craftsmen, in civilian or military or
artistic life" (Cabanne 16).
24. Attesting to the vulnerability of art in the face of catastrophic
events, The Box in a Valise commemorates the idea of transition as
a refuge from war that no longer retreats into art. Turning away
from the monumentalization of art and the self-aggrandizement of
the artist, this nomadic work will mark, through its appeal to
transience, the impossibility of finding refuge in art. Liberated
from the confines of the museum by its portability, this work
relies on strategies of reproduction and miniaturization whose
conceptual import privileges reiterated gestures rather than
fetishized objects. Instead of falling prey to self-referentiality
by upholding the personal myth of the artist, this work scrambles
and redistributes authorial agency. Requiring the intervention of
multiple agents, its production no longer relies on nor privileges
a unique maker. Affirming its affinity with child's play rather
than with the seriousness of making art, this work postpones the
artistic becoming of art in response to the catastrophic events of
modern history. Claiming the only "baggage" it can, that of art
and the institution of the museum, The Box in a Valise opens up
new possibilities for engagement and making in the wake of
modernism. Foregrounding the assumptions implicit in modern art,
this work postpones its becoming by setting its determinations
into play. In so doing, it delineates a new postmodern horizon for
activities that draw upon but are no longer classifiable as
art.[26 <#foot26>] Even as the forces of the art market and art
institutions conspire to reclaim and enshrine this work as art
within the walls of the museum, they cannot undermine the primacy
of its appeal: an open invitation to the spectator and by
extension to posterity to lend a hand in the creative act.
/ Department of French and Italian
Emory University
djudovi@emory.edu /
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Notes
1 <#ref1>. Excerpts from this letter of 24 September 1939 are
reprinted in Hulten, henceforth cited as Hulten, followed by date
of entry.
2 <#ref2>. First issued in 1941 as a deluxe edition of twenty
copies accompanied by "colorized" originals, it was subsequently
produced in seven series (A-G) until 1968; see Schwarz 762-64.
3 <#ref3>. Duchamp obtained his travel permit as a cheese buyer
from his friend Gustave Candel, the owner of a chain of Paris
dairies; see Marquis 262.
4 <#ref4>. For a detailed account of Duchamp's activities during
this period, see Tompkins.
5 <#ref5>. In his 1967 interview with Cabanne (a year and a half
before his death), Duchamp remarked: "I left France during the war
in 1942, when I would have had to have been part of the
Resistance. I don't have what is called a strong patriotic sense;
I'd rather not even talk about it" (85).
6 <#ref6>. Letter from Walter Arensberg to Duchamp, 21 May 1943,
at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Walter and Louise Arensberg
Archives, Philadelphia, PA; also quoted in Tompkins 316.
7 <#ref7>. For a detailed analysis of these two projects, see
Judovitz 52-73 and 74-119.
8 <#ref8>. Duchamp's comment on this particular alignment of
readymades was that they were like "ready-made talk of what goes
on in the Glass." This remark was reported by Walter Hopps to
William Camfield, based on an exchange with Duchamp on the
occasion of his first solo retrospective (at the age of 76),
organized by Hopps at the Pasadena Museum of Art (Fall 1963). See
Camfield 109.
9 <#ref9>. Duchamp's observation is from an unpublished interview
with Harriet, Sidney, and Carroll Janis in 1953 in the
Philadelphia Museum of Art Archives, quoted in d'Harnoncourt and
McShine 281.
10 <#ref10>. For the gender implications of this cover as a kind
of skirt and its potential reference to the Bride and the Large
Glass, see Schwarz 196.
11 <#ref11>. The critics and the public, however, appeared to have
taken to this idea in a stride, recognizing this installation as a
work in its own right. See Kachur's helpful discussion of the
circumstances and reception of this work (171-188 and 1899-91).
12 <#ref12>. Harriet, Sidney, and Carroll Janis's unpublished
interview with Duchamp 7-16; also quoted in Kachur 189-90.
13 <#ref13>. Buchloh examines Duchamp's appeal to obsoleteness as
a reflection on problems of cultural institutionalization and
reception (46).
14 <#ref14>. For a description of the various versions of the Box
of 1914, see Schwarz 598-603.
15 <#ref15>. Joselit suggests that Duchamp's use of photography as
a means of gaining access to his personal notes ends up equating
mental and industrial processes; see pp. 84-6.
16 <#ref16>. From "A Conversation with Marcel Duchamp," television
interview for NBC, Jan. 1956.
17 <#ref17>. Along with Bonk's comprehensive account of Duchamp's
activities and techniques for reproduction, also see Buskirk's
helpful summary (194-97).
18 <#ref18>. Stewart comments on the collection as a "form of art
as play, a form involving the reframing of objects within a world
of attention and manipulation of context" (151).
19 <#ref19>. Buskirk has persuasively argued that the Valise
retrospectively reinforced and solidified the impact and reception
of the readymades; see 194-203.
20 <#ref20>. Duchamp's play with the reversibility of gender
represents both a critique of the essentialism of gender and of
notions of fixed artistic identity; see Judovitz, "'A Certain
Inopticity'" 312-15.
21 <#ref21>. Buskirk suggests that Duchamp's assumption of these
various professional functions anticipated postmodern
developments; see 201.
22 <#ref22>. Tompkins observed that the title of the exhibition
"First Papers of Surrealism" referred to an immigrant's
application for U.S. citizenship, alluding to the refugee status
and the loss of national identity of many of the participating
artists; see 332.
23 <#ref23>. See Hauser's comments on this event (2).
24 <#ref24>. In his notes on the "Infrathin" (which also refers to
the infinitesimal interval separating a shape from its mold),
Duchamp uses the example, "Gruyère with fillings for defective
dentitions." Playfully suggesting that the cheese holes are in
need of dental fillings, he uses the French word for making a
filling (/plombé/) as a pun on a lead bullet (/plomb/); see
Matisse, n26 (no pagination).
25 <#ref25>. This image was reproduced in First Papers on
Surrealism. Ben Shahn's photograph was taken under the auspices of
the Farm Security Administration and was published in Steichen;
see Schwarz 766.
26 <#ref26>. For a more relevant account of the relation of
modernism and postmodernism in the arts, see Lyotard 79-82.
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Britt. New York: Rizzoli, 1989.
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Buchloch, Benjamin. "The Museum Fictions of Marcel Broodthaers."
Museums by Artists. Eds. A.A. Bronson and Peggy Gale. Toronto: Art
Metropole, 1983. 115-27.
Buskirk, Martha. "Thorougly Modern Marcel." October 70 (Fall
1994). Rpt. in The Duchamp Effect: Essays, Interviews, Round
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D'Harnoncourt, Anne, and Kynaston McShine, eds. Marcel Duchamp.
New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1973.
Duchamp, Marcel. Letter of March 3, 1935. Affectionately, Marcel:
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Lyotard, Jean-François. "Answering the Question: What is
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Marquis, Alice Goldfarb. Marcel Duchamp: Eros, C'est la Vie: a
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O'Doherty, Brian. Inside the White Cube: The Ideology of the
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