CADAQUÉS
Duchamp, Man Ray (1890-1976) and Mary Reynolds (1891-1950) first visited Cadaqués with Salvador Dali (1904-89) in 1933, From 1958 onwards, Duchamp and his wife Alexina Sattler (Teeny; 1906-95) regularly spent their summers at the small fishing village on Spain's northernmost coast, close to Dali’s home at Port Ligat. Duchamp celebrated his eightieth birthday in Cadaqués, leaving only two weeks before he died in Neuilly-sur-5eine. While in Cadaqués, Duchamp often wore shorts or linen trousers and a local peasant’s hat made from straw, and spent his time there catching up with his correspondence, attending the occasional bullfight or visiting friends and artists. Dali’s studio was within walking distance, and occasionally the Duchamps and the Dalis would go on boat trips together. Duchamp could not swim and he often played chess at the Café Meliton or, with Man Ray, would ‘watch and comment on the young women, bronzed and almost nude in their bikinis, on their way to the beach’.[1-C]
Many of Duchamp’s important late works are linked to Cadaqués and the apartment overlooking the Costa Brava bay that he rented each year. For example, he built a windbreak, two chimneys and a device called Bouche-Évier, or Sink Stopper (1964). This small round sculpture was eventually cast in editions of stainless steel, bronze and sterling silver but was initially intended to plug the wastewater pipe of the apartment’s bathroom shower. The bricks for the exterior of Étant donnés (1946- 66) came from Cadaqués, while the large wooden door was shipped from the village of La Bisbal, less than forty miles away. While in Cadaqués in 1959, he even collaborated with Dali on a small collotype print edition from a collage of photographs showing the background landscape of Étant donnés, although this never materialized.[2-C]
JOHN CAGE
‘Everything seen - every object, that is, plus the process of looking at it - is a Duchamp.’[3-C] One way to write music; study Duchamp.’[4-C ]These sentences by John Cage (1912-92) speak of both the admiration and the indebtedness the avant-garde composer felt for the artist who was his senior by twenty-five years. Although Cage had known about Duchamp since the early 1940s, and they had met at many events, he did not dare to approach his idol until twenty years later - he asked the artist whether he would teach him how to play chess, to which Duchamp agreed. Both had exhibited together before. Duchamp considered it ‘very fortunate’[5-C] that Cage wrote the score for his sequence in Dreams That Money Can Buy (1947), an experimental film by the Surrealist Hans Richter (1888-1976). Cage owned several works by Duchamp, including Erratum Musical (1913) and Czech Check (1966), the latter being the composer’s membership card for the Czech Mycological Association, which Duchamp signed for him. In 1968, during an arts festival in Toronto, the two men, together with Alexina Sattler (Teeny; 1906-95), played chess on stage for over four hours as part of a performance entitled Reunion. The games played on an electronic chessboard defined the form and content of an acoustical event enacted by live musicians and composers in attendance, while TV sets translated audio signals into abstract oscilloscopic visuals. What Duchamp later remembered most of all about the night was ‘a tremendous noise’.[6-C] Cage's own innovative musical experiments owed as much to the artist’s forays into music and chance as they did to Zen, Buddhism and Eastern thought.
Duchamp appreciated Cage's presence both at the chessboard and at his dinner table. He shared his ‘spiritual empathy, and a similar way of looking at things’.[7-C] He welcomed the composer’s light-heartedness and humor as well as his ‘search for silence’[8-C] and considered Cage and himself to be ‘great buddies’[9-C] Cage returned this kindness tenfold: ‘I love him and far more than any artist of this century he is the one who changed my life.’[10-C] For someone who once created a multi-piece visual work entitled Not Wanting to Say Anything About Marcel (1969), he certainly said it all.
CAUSALITY
In 1959, Duchamp created an ink drawing of the Large Glass (1915-23) with a landscape of hills and an electricity pole penciled in the background. Its title, Cols alités, or Bedridden Mountains, might tempt us to think of it as a pun on the word causality., When asked about the work by the Swiss Duchamp scholar Serge Stauffer (1929-89) in 1960, Duchamp refused to discuss the idea of a play on words but rather referred to his text in Rendez-vous (1916) in which he included the term ‘colles alités’, or ‘bedridden glues’. Duchamp would not admit to the pun as he was eager to do away with the concept of causality. His own words of the time attest to this: he ‘never believed in causality’,[11-C] which he found ‘very dubious. It has a doubtful character’.[12-C] Duchamp did not trust the notion of cause and effect or any laws that might be generated from it. To him, laws did not validate anything. Even ‘the idea of God being the first one to do everything is another illusion of causality.’[13-C]
CHANCE
‘I respect it. I have ended up loving it’,[14-C] is how Duchamp described to Pierre Cabanne (1921-2007) the intervention of chance when it came to his Large Glass (1915-23) shattering into hundreds of pieces while being returned to its owner, Katherine S. Dreier (1877-1952), after its first public display at the Brooklyn Museum in 1926-27. ‘Chance is the only way to avoid the control of the rational’,[15-C] chance alone could ‘express what is unique and indeterminate about us’,[16-C] as the artist told Calvin Tomkins (b. 1925) in the 1960s. Duchamp took the credit for introducing chance to art (Three Standard Stoppages, 1913-14) and music (Erratum Musical). To help him escape from his own taste and sense of aesthetics, Duchamp welcomed accidents and coincidences. He acknowledged that many of his ‘highly organized works were initially suggested by chance encounters’.[17-C] What held true for his ceuvre also played out in real life. André Breton (1896-1966) related the story about a nonchalant Duchamp deciding with a toss of the coin whether he should stay in Paris or leave for New York the next day (he went to New York).
CHEESE
During the Second World War, before he made it back to New York from German occupied France in May 1942, Duchamp devised a scheme to transport the artistic materials needed for his Box-in-a-Valise (1941) out of Europe. On the way to the United States, he passed through Nazi checkpoints in Paris posing as a wholesale cheese merchant. Luckily he did not arouse any suspicion. This risky endeavor may have been Duchamp's inspiration for reproducing a greatly enlarged close-up of a slice of cheese for the cover design of the First Papers of Surrealism exhibition in New York in late 1942. In 2000, after some debate within the Duchamp community, it was agreed that the cheese used for this cover image was Emmentaler and not Gruyére as it had been wrongly suggested for decades. On the back of an Excelsior Camembert cheese label, Duchamp once quipped that ‘The bachelor grinds his chocolate himself’, an onanistic reference pertaining to the lower half of the Large Glass (1915- 23) (onanism).
CHESS
If owing to his noteworthy musical talents James Joyce (1882-1941) has been referred to as a tenor who also wrote a few books, albeit of unparalleled significance, Duchamp may rightly be called a chess player who also created some important works of art. Duchamp once famously proclaimed that ‘while all artists are not chess players, all chess players are artists’.[18-C] The game occupied him so much that, out of jealousy and frustration, his first wife, Lydie Fischer Sarazin-Levassor (1903-88), glued his chess pieces to the board. The marriage lasted for barely seven months. Duchamp created a large number of studies and artworks on the theme of chess, including: his important early paintings of 1910 and 1911; a late etching, King and Queen (1967); a chess sculpture of the same year with his own face and right arm cast in bronze; and the black-and-white chessboard linoleum floor onto which he placed Étant donnés (1946-66).
In avant-garde filmmaker Hans Richter's (1888-1976) chess-inspired 8x8: A Chess Sonata in Eight Movements (1952/57), Duchamp appears as the Black King, and he plays chess with Man Ray (1890-1976) on a Paris rooftop in René Clair’s (1898-1981) film Entr'acte (1924), Throughout his life, Duchamp crafted chess figurines and boards, including a Pocket Chess Set in 1943, and designed the poster for the French Championship of 1925. ‘Duchamp needed a good chess game like a baby needs his bottle’,[19-C] remarked his close friend Henri-Pierre Roché (1879-1959), and it is no coincidence that one of the most iconic photographs of the artist shows him enjoying a game of chess with a nude young woman at his first retrospective in Pasadena in 1963.
Duchamp had played the game from childhood and did almost everything to nurture his friends’ reproach that since the 1920s he had abandoned art for chess. He wrote numerous chess columns and played against the greats of his time - José Raúl Capablanca (1888-1942) (Duchamp lost, naturally), George Koltanowski (1903- 2000) (Duchamp won) and Ksaweri Tartakower (1887-1956) (a draw!). He became a chess master in 1925 and was a member of the French team for the Chess Olympics, playing international competitions (Q-e5) and being awarded many prizes. In 1932 he won the Paris International Tournament, and in the same year, together with Vitaly Halberstadt, he co-wrote and designed a book, Opposition and Sister Squares are Reconciled, about a rare endgame situation, which was published in French, English and German. To Duchamp, chess was a science, his science. In 1935 and 1939 he was the undefeated champion as the captain of the French team of the First International Chess by Correspondence Olympiad. Later in his life he raised substantial amounts of money for the American Chess Foundation, for which he served as chairman, through an exhibition and an auction.
In part, it is Duchamp's lifelong preoccupation with chess that helps us to understand his art - the perpetual games of hide and seek, of tongue-in-cheek, of rigid logic and its surprise suspension. His sense of observation and contemplation, the solemn anticipation of what is to come and who will make the next move, and when and why, are all inextricably intertwined with his love of the game. Indulgence in the pure mental state of being, the ability to concentrate and strategize, the silence, the purity of thought and the luxury of taking one's time - these are traits of Duchamp's character as much as they are prerequisites for a good game of chess. It also appealed to him that there was no money involved in chess. Duchamp needed strong opponents. He had taught a young John Cage (1912-92) the game, yet became annoyed when the composer did not try too hard not to lose: ‘Don’t you ever play to win?’[20-C] Above all, chess allowed Duchamp to pass his time without actually working or creating art, while the game he described as a ‘violent sport’[21-C] to him had metaphysical layers as well. ‘To play is to live for. You play chess and you kill but you don't kill much. You live after being killed, you see, in chess, but not in normal wars. It's a peaceful way of understanding life. Play with life then you are just as alive and more alive than people who are only believing in religion and art.’[22-C] Regarding religion, Duchamp once proclaimed that Aaron ‘Nimzowitsch [1886-1935] is my god’,23-C[] referring to one of the 20th century's greatest chess masters and thinkers. This is probably as good as it gets when it comes to adoration by an agnostic.
CHILDREN
Duchamp’s parents, the notary Justin Isidore (1848-1925, known as Eugeéne) and Marie Caroline Lucie (1863-1925), had seven children, one dying in infancy: Gaston (1875-1963, later known as Jacques Villon), Raymond (1876-1918), Henri Robert Marcel (1887-1968), Suzanne (1889-1963), Yvonne (b. 1895) and Magdeleine (1898- 1979). Of all his siblings, only Marcel fathered a child, born out of wedlock during a love affair with a married woman, Jeanne Serre, who was the model for several of his paintings. Their daughter, later known by her artist name Yo Sermayer, was born on 6 February 1911. She never had any children. Duchamp’s direct lineage ended with Magdeleine, the last of his siblings to pass away, in 1979, and Sermayer, who died in 2003.
CHOCOLATE
As far as we know, Duchamp loved chocolate. In his New York studio in the 1910s, ‘there were always chocolate bars on the window sill.’[24-C] While visiting his parents in their hometown of Rouen, Duchamp was fascinated by the ancient chocolate grinder in one of the shop windows of the Chocolaterie E. Gamelin, Enthralled by the precision of such a complex machine, the encounter proved ‘a very important moment in my life’ and became ‘a real point of departure’[25-C] for his future work. In fact, only a little later, the chocolate grinder was introduced as one of the main components of the Bachelors' Apparatus in the lower half of his major work the Large Glass (1915- 23). In a note - ‘the bachelor grinds his chocolate himself’[26-C] - Duchamp suggests an onanistic activity linked to the rhythmic movement of the grinder (onanism). In another note he envisions ‘an object in chocolate’ and ‘the mould of a chocolate object’ as ‘the negative apparition of the surface’.[27-C]
Duchamp may have been the first artist to have used actual chocolate in an artwork. The small drawing Moonlight on the Bay at Basswood (1953) has a typewritten comment on the back stating, ‘the heavy brown shadows in the pine trees were made with a chocolate bar’.[28-C] He once scribbled instructions about the assembly process of his Box-in-a-Valise (1941) on a fragment of the label from a Hershey's Cocoa tin and described parts of the Milky Way of the Bride's Domain in the upper half of his Large Glass on the back of a postcard bearing the caption ‘Hershey “The Chocolate Town”’.
CITIZENSHIP
Born in France, Duchamp applied for US citizenship before marrying his second wife Alexina Sattler (Teeny; 1906-95), an American, in 1954. Upon the intervention of Alfred H. Barr Jr (1902-81), former director of the Museum of Modern Art, New York, as well as Nelson A. Rockefeller (1908-79), Duchamp took the oath of citizenship in late 1955, eighteen months after the wedding, at the age of sixty-eight. It is therefore both with great pride, as well as not inaccurate, that the wall labels adjacent to Duchamp’s works throughout American museums define his nationality as ‘French-American’, or even just ‘American’. Duchamp provided a whimsical answer as to why he no longer wanted to hold a French passport: ‘Because it was easier to get my favorite cigars through customs.’[29-C]
COFFEE MILL
The Coffee Mill, created in late 1911 for his brother Raymond Duchamp-villon's (1876-1918) kitchen, is a very small, unassuming painting and became a favourite of Duchamp’s. From the handle on top all the way to a heap of ground coffee at the bottom, it shows the entire operation of a coffee mill at work, from different angles and perspectives. It pre-dates the mechanist examinations of Dada and includes many themes that would come to define the artist’s work, such as the depiction of motion on canvas, his interest in diagrams and the interior workings of machines real or imagined, and even ‘irony’,[30-C] as Duchamp told friends in 1945. Soon, Duchamp would put the world of logos and engineering completely at the service of eros - possibly one of his greatest achievements as an artist - and within his oeuvre the chocolate grinder would take over from where the coffee mill left off. The Tate Gallery had the foresight to purchase the peculiar painting in 1981 from the daughter of Duchamp’s lover, Maria Martins (1894-1973). To this day, no one has been able to disprove the artist’s claim that Coffee Mill was the first painting to make use of an arrow to suggest movement.
COLLECTING
During his lifetime, Duchamp arranged for most of his major works to be placed in the hands of only a few collectors to whom he was very close. In his attempts to sidetrack the art market, he was then able to convince them to donate the works to the modern art collections of a small number of museums worldwide, with the Philadelphia Museum of Art being by far the most important. In a letter to his good friend Walter Pach (1883-1958) dated 28 September 1937, Duchamp wrote that ‘because my production is on a small scale, I am convinced that it has no right to be speculated upon, that is, to travel from one collection to another and get dispersed.’[31-C] It is precisely because of this precaution that Duchamp still plays no major role in the art market, not for gallerists, auction-houses or private collectors. With regard to the latter, the artist thought of them as ‘feelers, not intellectuals’, who are ‘generally not intelligent enough’,[32-C] comparing their appreciation to the shallow words, joy and pleasure that are the background noise of any art fair or collectors’ dinner even today. To soften his standpoint, Duchamp allowed for a differentiation between ‘the commercial collectors who have made modern art a field comparable to a Wall Street affair - the real collector, in my opinion, is an artist au carré, he selects paintings and puts them on his wall, in other words, “he paints a collection”.’[33-C]
COMMERCIALISM
One of the reasons Duchamp cherished chess was that, unlike art, it could not be exploited for commercial gain or its players corrupted by money. After the success of Nude Descending a Staircase No. 2 (1912) at New York's Armory Show in 1913, Duchamp was offered a monthly salary by a contemporary gallery to continue painting in the same style, but he refused. Although he himself was a dealer for Constantin Brâncuşi (1876-1957) and Francis Picabia (1879-1953) as well as many other artists, his lifelong aversion to commercialism did not necessarily contradict his sale of works by friends to other friends as a go-between for the European avantgarde and the American art market. ‘One must live’, he told Pierre Cabanne (1921- 2007), ‘it was simply because I did not have enough money.’[34-C]
Duchamp repeatedly made it clear that he did not need much to live on and many friends were astonished how modest and almost ascetic he was. ‘My capital is time, not money’[35-C] is how he defined his lifestyle, long before spare time came to be considered the ultimate luxury. Critical of the art market, he advised young artists to avoid money. Also, as one of the reasons he gave for stopping painting altogether at an early age he stated that it was ‘because there was too much commercialism. I did not like the mixture of money and art. I like the pure thing. I don’t like water in wine.’[36-C] When an artist contacted him in 1964 to sign a bottle dryer he had found, an object similar to the one Duchamp had elevated to the status of a readymade half a century before, Duchamp refused, not wanting to compromise his own edition of 1964-65 that he had authorized Arturo Schwarz (b. 1924) to manufacture. Yet, as he assured the artist in a letter, ‘your find has the same “metaphysical” value as any other readymade, it even has the advantage to have no commercial value.’[37-C]
CONTRADICTIONS
Duchamp is not a riddle to be solved. He and his work simply cannot be grasped or pinned down by any one explanation, formula or key. Maybe this is another of his contributions to our understanding of art: to comprehend that our quest for clarity is futile and complex thoughts are just as true as their opposite may be. ‘There is no solution because there is no problem’[38-C] he once famously quipped, and when it comes to Duchamp constantly contradicting himself, the artist Jasper Johns (b. 1930) had his own take on it: ‘Shortly after his death, there were two interviews published in two art magazines, Toward the end of one Duchamp said, “I'm nothing else but an artist, I'm sure, and delighted to be.” The other ended, “Oh yes, I act like an artist although I'm not one.” There may be some malice in these contradictory self-descriptions or, perhaps, an unwillingness to consider any definition as being final.’[39-C] Duchamp once stated, ‘To live is to believe, that's my belief,’[40-C] as well as ‘I like the word “belief".’[41-C] While in 1964 he told Otto Hahn (1879-1968) ‘I believe in nothing because to believe gives rise to a mirage’,[42-C] a few years later he said to Pierre Cabanne (1921-2007) that ‘the word “belief” is another error’ and called it a ‘horrible idea’[43-C] As Walt Whitman (1819-92) wrote in Song of Myself, ‘Do I contradict myself. Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.’[44-C]
As early as 1914, in his mid-twenties, Duchamp jotted down a note about wanting to research the ‘principle of contradiction’ and how this very principle ‘by nature ... can contradict its own self’.[45-C] Half a century later he argued that ‘contradiction is the whole point’.[46-C] When it came to the creation of his own art, there was a conscious effort on Duchamp’s part not to choose sides: ‘I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste.’[47-C]
WILLIAM COPLEY
‘Cops pullulate, Copley Copulates’[48-C] is how Duchamp rather obviously punned on the name of his friend William Copley (1919-96), the American art dealer, publisher and painter of humorous and erotic works, in an invitation for one of his New York shows in 1960. Not obvious enough, apparently, as three years later an even more sexually laden limerick followed: ‘There once was a painter named Copley / Who never would miss a good lay / And to make his paintings erotic / Instead of brushes, he simply used his prick.’[49-C] Copley was both independently wealthy and tremendously generous, Duchamp helped him to jump-start his gallery after they first met in the late 1940s. It was the Copley Foundation that secured the purchase of Étant donnés (1946-66) and its donation to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, a work created by Duchamp over two decades in such secrecy that Copley was one of only a handful of people who knew about it before its posthumous inauguration in 1969.
A great supporter of many of Duchamp’s projects, including the financial backing for his first retrospective in Pasadena in 1963 curated by Walter Hopps (1932-2005) and for Richard Hamilton's (1922-2011) version of the Large Glass (1915-23), Copley described his relationship with Duchamp as ‘personal and amicable’.[50-C] In fact, ‘Duchamp’s influence on me as a painter was enormous but strictly poetic, having to do with what I assumed to be my understanding of his humor and philosophy as expressed through his personality.’[51-C]
CRAFT
‘I don’t believe in the creative function of the artist. He’s a man like any other. It's his job to do certain things, but the business man does certain things also ... Now everyone makes something, and those who make things on a canvas, with a frame, they're called artists. Formerly, they were called craftsmen, a term I prefer. We're all craftsmen, in civilian, or military, or artistic life.’[52-C]
‘THE CREATIVE ACT’
of Duchamp’s few lectures and talks, most of which he delivered when in his late sixties and seventies, ‘The Creative Act’ is considered his most important. Within this brief speech given at the Convention of the American Federation of Arts in Houston, Texas in April 1957, Duchamp proposed that the viewer of an artwork is as important as the artist himself. While ‘the artist may shout from all the rooftops that he is a genius, he will have to wait for the verdict of the spectator’, who may also ‘rehabilitate forgotten artists’.[53-C] The artist’s creative struggle can never be fully aware of the ‘difference between the intention and its realization’ and it is this gap that allows ‘the spectator to determine the weight of the work on the esthetic scale.’
In the same vein, and surely influenced by Duchamp’s ideas, an essay on the Large Glass (1915-23) written by Roberto Matta Echaurren (1911-2002) and Katherine S. Dreier (1877-1952) states that ‘the image is not a thing. It is an act which must be completed by the spectator. In order to be fully conscious of the phenomenon which the image describes, we ourselves must first of all fulfill the act of dynamic perception.’[54-C] What Duchamp offers then is a ‘dialogue’,[55-C] an ‘esthetic osmosis’, a ‘transmutation’ or ‘transubstantiation’ between the artist and the onlooker that goes way beyond taste, approval or rejection, or the infamous ‘I could do that myself’ remarks so often overheard in galleries exhibiting modern and contemporary art.
Duchamp’s approach was not about judging: ‘What I have in mind is that art may be bad, good or indifferent, but, whatever adjective is used, we must call it art.’ Moreover, it has nathing to do with the all too often unnerving attempts to objectify our subjective opinions, which is at the root of so much purportedly neutral art history. Duchamp was primarily interested in engaging what he called grey matter, both of the artist and of the spectator. After all, while ‘millions of artists create, only a few thousand are discussed or accepted by the spectator and many less again are consecrated by posterity.’
CRITICISM
‘As much as possible I never try to judge or criticize anything’ (judging),[56-C] Duchamp declared, and considered himself to be a ‘great enemy of critical writing’.[57-C] He once advised that ‘the more hostile the criticism, the more encouraged the artist should be.’[58-C] Duchamp noticed early on that the more secular the 20th century grew, the more art became its ersatz religion: ‘The public is a victim of a really staggering plot. The critics speak of “the truth of art” as one says “the truth of religion”.’[59-C]
CUBISM
Of all artistic styles, Duchamp owes his coming of age as an artist to Cubism, in particular in his refusal to identify his work with any specific school, movement or aesthetic. By 1911 he had abandoned Fauvism in favour of Cubism. However, by the end of 1912, in part due to the opposition facing his Nude Descending a Staircase No. 2 (1912), he had abandoned Cubism to avoid any indoctrination or systemization. Despite this, he was one of only ten painters included in Guillaume Apollinaire’s (1880-1918) influential Les peintres cubists (1913). Looking back, Duchamp thought of Cubism as a school of painting whereas both Dada and Surrealism, the two movements with which he would later become most associated, were more inclusive when it came to other artistic genres. Most importantly, he came to consider Cubism as mere retinal art, unlike Dada and Surrealism. Although the objects depicted appeared fragmented or as seen from many viewpoints, the style remained steeped in a wholly visual approach, even in its abstracted forms. Duchamp’s brief writings on Georges Braques (1882-1963), Juan Gris (1887-1927) and Pablo Picasso (1881- 1973) for the Société Anonyme's collection in 1943 are careful not to pass any judgment on the movement the painters helped found (judging), and he often praised the Cubists’ bible, Du cubisme (1912), by Albert Gleizes (1881-1953) and Jean Metzinger (1883-1956). However, he was quick to disassociate himself from Cubism as he did with every school that intruded too much upon his own thinking or was eager to win him over. ‘Cubists were still old-fashioned painters who spent their days painting and had no idea what was going on around them’, he later remarked, ‘just plain toiling every day. Whereas the Futurists were men of the world, they knew what was going on.’[60-C]
CURATING
Following on from Pontus Hultén (1924-2006), Harald Szeemann (1933-2005) and UIf Linde (b. 1929), some of the most established international curators and museum directors today - among them Daniel Birnbaum (b. 1963), Chris Dercon (b. 1958), Elena Filipovic (b. 1972), Massimiliano Gioni (b. 1973), Udo Kittelmann (b. 1958), Hans Ulrich Obrist (b. 1968) and Ali Subotnick (b. 1972) - also draw inspiration from Duchamp with regard to their curatorial practice. For the 1938 Exposition Internationale du Surréalisme held at the Galerie Beaux-Arts in Paris, one of the many interventions staged by Duchamp involved him suspending 1,200 empty coal sacks from the ceiling, thus creating a key Surrealist display and redefining the role of the curator. At the entrance, visitors were given torches to point at artworks as they walked through the darkened rooms, while German army parade marches could be heard through loudspeakers.
Whenever he had the chance, Duchamp experimented with display features and involved a variety of senses to subtly undermine the perceived self-importance of the works exhibited. To achieve this, he tock inspiration from areas far removed from art, like trade show fairs, fairgrounds or scientific modes of presentation. In 1942 in New York, for the First Papers of Surrealism exhibition, Duchamp used about a mile of string to create a huge cobweb through which visitors had to find their way. At the opening, he brought together a group of children who played all evening without paying any attention to their surroundings. Many decades earlier, for the First Exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists at New York’s Grand Central Palace in 1917, he proposed the hanging and placement of over 2,100 paintings and sculptures in alphabetical order. ‘No jury - no prizes - no commercial tricks’[61-C] was the show's motto and Duchamp had found a radical way to translate the organizer’s creed into the task of the curator.
Whether as co-founder of the Société Anonyme or by suggesting themes and shows like Exhibition by 31 Women to Peggy Guggenheim's (1898-1979) Art of This Century space in 1942, Duchamp played an authoritative role in dozens of international gallery, museum and independent art exhibitions, especially during the phase of late Surrealism. Moreover, he devised shop window displays advertising his own books or those of friends and site-specific ephemeral artworks for temporary displays. From making a door for André Breton's (1896-1966) Gradiva gallery to designing posters, flyers and catalogues, Duchamp’s ceaseless and wide-ranging activities in the field of curating are astonishing for an artist who declared that he had stopped creating altogether. As for his own works, he more often than not declined to exhibit them in group shows, while his Box-in-a-Valise (1941) containing intricate miniature replicas of much of his oeuvre may be considered a small museum curated by the artist alone.
NOTES: C
[1-C] Man Ray, Self-Portrait, London: Bloomsbury, 1988, p. 192. [2-C] Michael Taylor, Étant donnés, Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2009, p. 91. [3-C] John Cage, ‘26 Statements Re Duchamp’ (1964), in Anne d’'Harnoncourt and Kynaston McShine (eds), Marcel Duchamp, Munich: Prestel, 1989, pp. 188-89. [4-C] Ibid. [5-C] Quoted in Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 4 December 1961, n.p. [6-C] Ibid., within the entry for 5 February 1968, n.p. [7-C] Ibid., within the entry for 1 July 1966, n.p. [8-C] Ibid., and 8 September 1966. [9-C] Quoted in Anthony Hill (ed.), Duchamp: Passim, Langhorne, PA: G+B Arts International, 1994, p. 67. [10-C] Cage, ‘Preface to James Joyce, Marcel Duchamp, Erik Satie: An Alphabet’ (1983), in Carlos Basualdo and Erica F. Battle (eds), Dancing Around the Bride. Cage, Cunningham, Rauschenberg, and Duchamp, Philadelphia Museum of Art, 30 October 2012-21 January 2013, and Barbican Art Gallery, London, 14 February-9 June 2013 (exh. cat.), New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012, pp. 224-27, p. 224. [11-C] Quoted in Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, p. 85. [12-C] Ibid., p. 86. [13-C] Ibid. [14-C] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 76. [15-C] Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, p. 51. [16-C] Ibid., p. 58. [17-C] Katherine Kuh, ‘Marcel Duchamp’ (1961), in The Artist’s Voice: Talks with Seventeen Modern Artists, New York: Da Capo, 2000, pp. 81-93, p. 92. [18-C] From a brief speech held before the annual meeting of the New York State Chess Federation in 1952, quoted in Francis M. Naumann and Bradley Bailey, Marcel Duchamp. The Art of Chess, New York: Readymade Press, 2009, p. 34. [19-C] Roché, ‘Souvenirs of Marcel Duchamp’, in Robert Lebel, Marcel Duchamp, New York: Grove Press, 1959, pp. 79-87, pp. 83, 84. [20-C] Sylvere Lotringer, ‘Becoming Duchamp’, in Tout-Fait: The Marcel Duchamp Studies Online Journal, vol. 1, issue 2 (May 2000) (7 January 2013). [21-C] Raymond Keene, ‘Marcel Duchamp: The Chess Mind’, in Anthony Hill (ed.), Duchamp: Passim, Langhorne, PA: G+B Arts International, 1994, pp. 121-30, p. 123. [22-C] Anonymous, ‘Marcel Duchamp speaks about his work’, (7 January 2013). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=goAS5G2SRtQ [23-C] Ernst Strouhal, Duchamps Spiel, Vienna: Sonderzahl, 1994, p. 76 (quoting from a 1961 interview with Frank R. Brady). [24-C] Beatrice Wood, ‘Marcel’, in Rudolf E. Kuenzli and Francis M. Naumann (eds), Marcel Duchamp. Artist of the Century, Cambridge: MIT, 1989, pp. 12-17, p. 12. [25-C] Quoted in James Johnson Sweeney, ‘Marcel Duchamp’, in James Nelson (ed.), Wisdom: Conversations with the Elder Wise Men of our Day, New York: Norton, 1958, pp. 92-93. [26-C] Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, p. 68. [27-C] Ibid., p. 70. [28-C] Arturo Schwarz, The Complete Works of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Delano Greenidge, 2000, p. 802. [29-C] Quoted in Alice Goldtarb Marquis, Marcel Duchamp. The Bachelor Stripped Bare, Boston: MFA Publications, 2002, p. 292. [30-C] Quoted in Harriet and Sidney Janis, ‘Marcel Duchamp, Anti-Artist’, in Joseph Mashek (ed.), Marcel Duchamp in Perspective, Englewood Clifts: Prentice Hall, 1975, pp. 30-40, p. 34. [31-C] Quoted in Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 28 September 1937, n.p. [32-C] Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, p. 27. [33-C] Quoted in Bonnie Clearwater (ed.), West Coast Duchamp, Miami Beach: Grasstield, 1991, p. 114. [34-C] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 74. [35-C] Quoted in Winthrop Sargeant, ‘Dada’s Daddy’, Life, vol. 32, no. 17 (New York, 28 April 1922), pp. 100-11, p. 108. [36-C] Quoted in Harold C. Schonberg, ‘Creator of Nude Descending Reflects After Half a Century’, New York Times (12 April 1963), p. 25. [37-C] Francis M. Naumann and Hector Obalk (eds), Affect. Marcel. The Selected Correspondence of Marcel Duchamp, London and New York: Thames & Hudson, 2000, p. 385 (from a letter of 28 July 1964 to Douglas Gorsline). [38-C] Quoted in Harriet and Sidney Janis, ‘Marcel Duchamp: Anti-Artist’, in Charles Henri Ford (ed.), View, vol. 5, no. 1 (New York, March 1945), pp. 18-24, 53, p. 24. [39-C] Jasper Johns, ‘Thoughts on Duchamp’, Art in America, vol. 57, no. 4 (New York, July-
August 1969), p. 31. [40-C] James Johnson Sweeney, ‘A Conversation with Marcel Duchamp’, television interview, NBC, January 1956, in Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, pp. 127-87, p. 187. [41-C] Ibid. [42-C] Quoted in Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 23 July 1964, n.p. [43-C] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 89. [44-C] Walt Whitman, The Complete Poems, London: Penguin, 1996, p. 123. [45-C] Paul Matisse (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Notes, Boston: G. K. Hall, 1983, n.p. (Note no. 185). [46-C] Quoted in Francis M. Naumann, Marcel Duchamp. The Art of Making Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, New York: Abrams, 1999, p. 261. [47-C] Quoted in Harriet and Sidney Janis, ‘Marcel Duchamp: Anti-Artist’, in Charles Henri Ford (ed.), View, vol. 5, no. 1 (New York, March 1945), pp. 18-24, 53, p. 18. [48-C] Quoted in Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, p. 118. [49-C] Ibid. [50-C] William Copley, ‘The New Piece’, Art in America, vol. 57, no. 4 (New York, July-August 1969), 1969, p. 36. [51-C] Ibid. [52-C] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 16. [53-C] Unless otherwise indicated, all quotes in this entry are from Duchamp, ‘The Creative Act’, in Anthony Hill (ed.), Duchamp: Passim, Langhorne, PA: G+B Arts International, 1994, p. 87. [54-C] Katherine S. Dreier and Matta Echaurren, Duchamp’s Glass. An Analytical Reflection, New York: Société Anonyme, 1944, n.p. [55-C] Ibid. [56-C] Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, p. 62. [57-C] Francis M. Naumann and Hector Obalk (eds), Affect. Marcel. The Selected Correspondence of Marcel Duchamp, London and New York: Thames & Hudson, 2000, p. 348 (from a letter of 8 March 1956 to Jehan Mayoux). [58-C] Quoted in ‘The Western Roundtable on Modern Art, San Francisco, 1949’, in Bonnie Clearwater (ed.), West Coast Duchamp, Miami Beach: Grasstield, 1991, pp. 106-14, p. 109. [59-C] Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 23 July 1964, n.p. [60-C] Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, p. 82. [61-C] Quoted from Alfred Stieglitz, ‘Letter to the Editor’ (13 April 1917), The Blind Man, no. 2 (New York, May 1917), p. 15.
— D —
DADA
Dada was founded in Zurich in 1916 during the First World War and spread quickly to cities such as Berlin, Hanover, Cologne, New York and eventually Paris. Radically pacifist, Dada’s numerous manifestos embrace the illogical, the nihilistic and the nonsensical, ‘the extraordinary and the absurd’.[1-D] Dada’s playfulness transcended boundaries between artistic genres and defied any attempts at categorization. To Duchamp, who curated a seminal show on the movement in 1953, Dada ‘was an integral part of the postwar European expression of disgust and revolt.’[2-D] He adopted the uncompromising, nonconformist elements of Dada, adding his own sense of irony and humour to what he thought of as a spirit that had already gained ground in previous centuries rather than a movement of a certain time and place. In New York, Duchamp, Alfred Stieglitz (1864-1946), Francis Picabia (1879-1953) and Man Ray (1890-1976) championed Dada in magazines such as 291, 391 and The Blind Man, with Duchamp and Man Ray publishing the only number of New York Dada in 1921. Duchamp even proposed producing the four letters of DADA ‘separately and then linked together by a little chain’,[3-D] in metal, silver, gold and platinum editions, as good-luck charms to be ‘worn around the neck, as cufflinks or a tie-pin’.[4-D] The playing field of Dada eventually provided the breeding ground for Surrealism, Dada's grown-up, intellectual next of kin.
SALVADOR DALÍ
Surprisingly, Salvador Dalí (1904—89) and Duchamp got along splendidly, although their wives — Teeny (1906-95) and Gala (1894-1982) — did not. Who would have thought that the Catalonian painter, a self-declared genius, would hit it off with a calm, comparatively quiet, intellectual Norman artist almost two decades his senior? Although like many Surrealists Duchamp reprimanded the Spaniard for being too interested in money, the two maintained a with Dalí toning down his ego and Duchamp on decades-long friendship, the verge of being reverent. Just like ‘two minds on a single wavelength’,[5-D] they had many mutual interests besides the arts, including science, mathematics, Leonardo da Vinci(1452-1519), metaphysics, chess and eroticism. Both artists employed peep-holes in their work: Duchamp in Étant donnés (1946-66) to allow the viewer to glance through a massive wooden door giving way to a landscape and a spreadeagled naked female torso; and Dalí in his painting Illuminated Pleasures (1929), as well as in his own museum in Figueres, where a small opening reveals a lit-up green landscape complete with flamingos and a woman lying in bed. In his few writings on Duchamp, Dalí likens the artist to an ‘aristocrat’,[6-D] even a ‘king’,[7-D] while a monumental painting of his from 1965 depicts Nude Descending a Staircase No. 2 (1912) as well as Duchamp disguised dealer as the Sun King Louis XIV. At that time, A Dalí may have felt somewhat indebted to Duchamp. In 1960, despite strong opposition from André Breton (1896—66) and many others, Duchamp had included a major painting by Dalí, Madonna (1958), in a New York Surrealist show — a movement from which Dalí had been expelled some twenty years earlier for embracing fascism, Catholicism and riches.
DEALER
The Romanian artist Radu Varia (b. 1940) gently criticized Duchamp for his statement that ‘art had no more meaning’, while ‘he was to earn a living by selling [Constantin] Brâncuşi's [1876—1957] works!’.[8-D] It is true that Duchamp, together with his friend Henri- Pierre Roché (1879-1959), bought and sold about thirty works by the 20th century’s most important sculptor. The purchasers made a good investment in the long term as sculptures sold for much less than a thousand dollars in the 19380s, but seventy years later one of them hit a record high of almost forty million dollars. The eighty works Duchamp bought from Francis Picabia (1879-1953) also increased in value. ‘This commercial aspect of my life made me a living’,[9-D] the artist admitted. While Duchamp sold many of his own as well as friends’ works through numerous l dealers, he did not hide his aversion to the business itself. ‘I have no respect for the profession of dealer’,[10-D] he once said. ‘There are good dealers and there are bad dealers, like everything else. It's a very curious form of parasitism; instead of being a bother it’s an enhancer.’[11-D] Duchamp detested anything that reeked of ‘the good old mighty dollar’[12-D] and advised all artists to steer clear of money, at least those who did not wish to be seen as businessmen (art market, commercialism, galleries).
DEATH
Two years before he passed away, when asked about whether he thought about death, he answered ‘As little as possible.’[13-D] As a non-believer, he was ‘simply impressed by the fact that you're gointgo completely disappear.’[14-D] On the evening of 1 October 1968, at his studio apartment in Neuilly-sur-Seine, an affluent suburb west of Paris, Duchamp and his wife Teeny (1906-95) enjoyed dinner with Juliet (1912-91) and Man Ray (1890-1976) as well as Nina (1903-98) and Robert Lebel (1901-86). His guests left around 11.30 p.m. Of good humour and appetite — according to Juliet, ‘pheasant and lots of red wine’ were served[15-D] — and after reading a few pages by one of his favourite poets, Alphonse Allais (1854—1905), Teeny found her husband, fully dressed, on the floor of the bathroom that he had entered shortly before to get ready for bed. His death certificate states a ‘massive embolism’ as the cause of his passing, with which earlier operations on his prostate and appendix in the 1950s apparently had no connection.[16-D] To his friend Hans Richter (1888-1976) Ducham'p had once remarked: ‘Death does not exist. You live with and through your consciousness. When you have no consciousness, you are just not there. That's all.’[17-D] For the acceptance of an artist’' s work, he believed that being alive could even be a hindrance: ‘Death is an indispensable attribute of a great artist. His voice, his appearance, his personality — in short, his whole aura — intrudes such that his pictures are overshadowed. Not until all these factors have been silenced, can his work be known for its own greatness.’[18-D] Somehow, it worked out differently for Duchamp, whose aura and ork still loom large, as the former never overshadowed the latter.
Among Duchamp’s posthumously published notes we twice find the half sentence ‘and besides it is always the others who die’,[19-D] jotted down in - French between other puns and thoughts on yellow sheets of legal paper under the heading ‘epitaph’. At Rouen’s Cimitiere Monumentale, ‘D’ailleurs c’est toujours les autres qui meurent’ is what his family plot’s gravestone reads above his name. The humorous presumptuousness of the epitaph, the hyperbole of believing that instead of yourself it is everything else that ceases to be at the very moment that you pass away, may well be read as a final tribute to Max Stirner’s (1806-56) individualistic philosophy, which Duchamp held in high esteem.
DELAY
With Duchamp, delay was not due to procrastination but rather a concept in itself. Looking at his life, delay seems to have played a major role. Only from his late sixties onwards did long-term recognition for his achievements and admiration among younger artists begin, and at this time too he embarked on his lasting marriage and had his first retrospective. Also, the artist often expressed the insignificance of the contemporary audience as he felt that posterity would decide on an artist's true status and importance. There is a note in Duchamp’s Green Box (1934) (boxes) in which he suggests ‘Delay in Glass’ as a ‘Kind of Subtitle’ for his Large Glass (1915-23): ‘Use “delay” instead of picture or painting; picture on glass becomes delay in glass — but delay in glass does not mean picture on glass. [t's merely a way of succeeding in no longer thinking that the thing in question is a picture ... a delay in glass as you would say a poem in prose or a spittoon in silver.’[20-D] To Duchamp the word itself had a ‘non-physical sense, it is a poetic association’.[21-D] The French word for delay, ‘retard’, is close to the musical term ‘ritardando’ (music), meaning a gradual slowing down of the tempo. Speaking out against quick art, the conscious act of delay may have manifested itself in Duchamp letting go of certain things before they were considered finished. ‘This is not a time in which to complete anything’, Anaïs Nin (1903-77) remembers him telling her in 1934, ‘this is a time for fragments’.[22-D] After all, he signed his Large Glass ‘inachevé’, or incomplete. There is a Romantic aspect to the fragmentary. Duchamp might have also had in mind what Friedrich Nietzsche (1844~1900), whose work he read (philosophy), meant when he said that in order to set off lightning one has first to be a cloud for a long time.[23-D]
DOORS
Long before Aldous Huxley (1894—1963) published his book The Doors of Perception (1954) and a 1960s rock band based their name on its title (drugs), Duchamp was interested in the subject. In 1927, he devised Door: 11, rue Larrey for his tiny Paris apartment, a door hinged between the studio and the bedroom, which, to his pleasure, solved the old paradox of a door that could not be open and closed at the same time. He also designed the entrance for André Breton's (1896-1966) short-lived Paris - gallery Gradiva and once affixed a metal spoon to a door lock in the New York apartment in which Max Ernst (1881- 1976) had previously lived. In 1968, about six months before he died, he produced a promotional leaflet for a contemporary art show on the theme of doors for a gallery in Manhattan. Duchamp created many doors and passageways during his career, yet the most famous one, through whose peepholes we glimpse the interior of Étant donnés (1946-66), may not constitute a door at all. The wooden planks put together from a massive Spanish gate contain no hinges, keyhole, handle, knob or door lock, and there is no way to open the construction. Nothing with Duchamp is ever as simple as it first appears.
DOUBT
While Duchamp came to oppose the limitations of the overwhelmingly rational and logical philosophy of René Descartes (1596-1650), the artist nevertheless referred to his own ‘Cartesian mind’ that ‘refused to accept anything, doubted everything’[24-D] His perpetual questioning of himself and his work laid the foundation for Duchamp as a game-changer, iconoclast and inventor. ‘It may be a great work of his to have brought doubt into the air that surrounds art’,25-D[] the artist Jasper Johns (b. 1930) remarked about Duchamp. In fact, what Johns observed about artistic practice also holds true for the larger picture, as Duchamp himself made clear: ‘If one is logical, one doubts the history of art’[26-D] (art history).
KATHERINE S. DREIER
Following their introduction in 1916, Katherine Sophie Dreier (1877-1952) and Marcel Duchamp remained close, lifelong friends. An artist, collector, early feminist, art critic and most of all a patron of the avant-garde, Dreier, the daughter of prosperous German immigrants, enjoyed an independently wealthy lifestyle. Together with Man Ray (1890-1976) and Duchamp she founded the Société Anonyme in New York in 1920, and purchased dozens of works by her protégé, among them Three Standard Stoppages (1918-14), the Large Glass (1915-23), Tu m’ (1918) and Rotary Glass Plates (1920) (optics). While it is not mentioned in Duchamp’s catalogue raisonné, sometime between the mid-1930s and the late 1940s the artist painted the left side of the lift installed next to the staircase in the entrance foyer of her Connecticut home to match the wallpaper. Dreier remained ‘earnest, didactic, unyieldingly proper’[27-D] amidst the wild modern artists who gathered in New York during the First World War, and continued to cultivate her conservative and traditional demeanour, views and clothing. However, she followed Duchamp’s lead in his views on art, making many of his opinions her own (‘The Creative Act’). In Duchamp scholarship, Dreier is often referred to in a derogatory manner, but the artist held her in high regard, the tone of their written exchanges is cordial and they collaborated on many catalogues, books, purchases and exhibitions. Within the catalogue for the collection of the Société Anonyme, he praised her paintings’ ‘delicate balancing of abstract forms and mellow colors’ and herself as a member of ‘the fortunate generations of painters who, in their prime, witnessed the blossoming of complete freedom in art.’[28-D]
DRUGS
While Duchamp might have referred to art as ‘an outlet toward regions which are not ruled by time and space’,[29-D] he did not take drugs. His friends maintained that chess was his only drug. To Duchamp, the danger of art lay in its capacity to become a ‘habit-forming’ or ‘sedative drug’.[30-D] He was clean otherwise and even made a point of never having smoked opium with Francis Picabia (1879-1953) during their Paris heyday in the 1910s.[31-D] The one occasion on which he took LSD was very late in his life and it was slipped to him without his knowledge. According to his wife Alexina Sattler (Teeny; 1906-95), it was the only time she had to remove his shoes before he went to bed.[32-D]
DUST BREEDING
Duchamp, being the painstakingly tinkering do-it-yourselfer that he was, went out of his way to incorporate ephemeral materials in his work. Dust Breeding (1920), a photograph by Man Ray (1890-1976), shows the back of parts of the lower half of the Large Glass (1915- 23) while it was still under construction at Duchamp’s perpetually messy studio. Looking like a lunar landscape or those giant Peruvian tribal motifs that can only be seen clearly from the air, the tiny picture depicts the dust Duchamp had allowed to accumulate on a glass plate before affixing it to its surface with glue to provide the colour and varnish for the ‘seven sieves’, a part of the Large Glass's Bachelors’ Apparatus. ‘To raise dust on Dust-Glasses for 4 months. Six months. Which you close up afterwards hermetically = Transparency’,[33-D] reads one of his many notes. Somehow, the photograph’s popularity is as strong as it is ongoing. Dust Breeding is the name of a 1980s tune by Christian Marclay (b. 1955) and in 2001 the philosopher Jean Baudrillard (1929-2007) used the title for an essay on the emptiness of modern man’s sexuality. In the same year, a British production company created an audiotape episode called ‘Dust Breeding’. Part of a popular science fiction series, the story revolves around an "artists’ colony on planet Duchamp 331.
NOTES: D
[1-D] Hugo Ball, ‘Dada Fragments’ (1916), in Charles Harrison and Paul Wood (eds), Art in Theory 1900-1990, Oxtord: Blackwell, 1992, pp. 246—48, p. 246. [2-D] Quoted in Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 21 November 1963, n.p. [3-D] Francis M. Naumann and Hector Obalk (eds), Affect. Marcel. The Selected Correspondence of Marcel Duchamp, London and New York: Thames & Hudson, 2000, p. 125 (from a letter of October (?) 1922 to Tristan Tzara). [4-D] Ibid., p. 126. [5-D] The artist Timothy Phillips quoted in Thomas Girst, The Indefinite Duchamp, Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz, 2013, p. 209. [6-D] Salvador Dalí, ‘The King and Queen Traversed by Swift Nudes’ (1959), in Paul B. Franklin (ed.), Étant donné Marcel Duchamp, no. 5 (Paris, 2003), pp- 108-11, p. 108. [7-D] Salvador Dalí, ‘L’échecs, c’est moi [‘Chess, it’s me.”]’ (1971), in Paul B. Franklin (ed.), Étant donné Marcel Duchamp, no. 5 (Paris, 2003), pp. 119-21, p. 121. [8-D] Radu Vania, Brancusi, New York: Rizzoli, 1986, p. 47. [9-D] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 73. [10-D] Quoted in Calvin Tomkins, The Bride and the Bachelors. Five Masters of the Avant-Garde: Duchamp, Tinguely, Cage, Rauschenberg, Cunningham, New York: Penguin, 1976, p. 67. [11-D] Quoted in Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, p. 34. [12-D] Quoted in William Seitz, ‘What Happened to Art? An Interview with Marcel Duchamp on Present Consequences of New York’s 1913 Armory Show’, Vogue, vol. 141, no. 4 (New York, 15 February 1963), pp. 110, 112-13, 129-31, p. 130. [13-D] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 107. [14-D] Ibid. [15-D] Man Ray, Self-Portrait, London: Bloomsbury, 1988, p. 315. [16-D] Jacqueline Matisse Monnier, e-mail to the author, 13 June 2013. [17-D] Hans Richter, ‘In Memory of a Friend’, Art in America, vol. 57, no. 4 (New York, July-August, 1969), pp. 40-41, p. 41. [18-D] Quoted in Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 16 June 1936, n.p. [19-D] Paul Matisse (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Notes, Boston: G. K. Hall, 1983, n.p. (Notes nos. 252, 256). [20-D] Quoted in Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, p. 26. [21-D] Quoted in Laurence S. Gold, A Discussion of Marcel Duchamp’s Views on the Nature of Reality and Their Relations to the Course of His Artistic Career, BA dissertation, Princeton University, May 1958, pp. xviii, 54. [22-D] Quoted in Anaïs Nin, The Diary 1931-1934, New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1966, p. 357. [23-D] Friedrich Nietzsche, Briefwechsel, Kritische Gesamtausgabe, III, 7/1, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2003, p. 995. [24-D] Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, p. 64. [25-D] Jasper Johns, ‘Thoughts on Duchamp’, Art in America, vol. 57, no. 4 (New York, July-August 1969), p. 31. [26-D] Quoted in an interview with Otto Hahn, in Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 23 July 1964, n.p. [27-D] Steven Watson, Strange Bedfellows. The First American Avant-Garde, New York: Abbeville Press, 1991, p. 271. [28-D] Ibid., pp. 147-48. [29-D] James Johnson Sweeney, ‘A Conversation with Marcel Duchamp’, television interview, NBC, January 1956, in Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, pp. 127-37, p. 137. [30-D] Calvin Tomkins, Marcel Duchamp. The Afternoon Interviews, New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2013, pp. 55, 57. [31-D] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 54. [32-D] Teeny Duchamp in a conversation with the author, 1 November 1990. [33-D] Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, p. 53.
EARLY WORK
Just as a new garage band starts out by experimenting with different styles, paying tribute to and covering their favourite songs before perhaps hitting the big time, so did the young and highly gifted Duchamp try out many schools and 1sms’ when applying oil on canvas (painting). He was not accepted at the Académie des Beaux-Arts and thus attended the private Académie Julian in Paris. Before finding his own incomparable style and palette in his early twenties, an endeavour that would culminate in paintings like Nude Descending a Staircase No. 2 (1912) and the Bride (1912), Duchamp’s artistic content mostly revolved around his immediate family and environs, the nude in all shapes and forms, living it up in Paris, and the game of chess. He also made some money providing cartoons for popular magazines such as Le Courrier Français, Le Rire and Le Témoin. Duchamp scholars never cease to be amazed by how many important themes and subjects of major later works originated in his early paintings and sketches. There is a charcoal on paper study from 1908—4 depicting a Bec Auer gas lamp that over sixty years later would be held up in the air by the nude in Étant donnés (1946—66). There are androgynous men, deliberate distortions (anatomy), nudes on a ladder, and humorous cartoons featuring men and women that pre-date the intricate interplay between the sexes as epitomized in the Large Glass (1915-23).
EDITION OF 1964-65
In 1964, on the fiftieth anniversary of the creation of the Bottle Dryer (1914), Duchamp authorized the Italian art dealer, philosopher and writer Arturo Schwarz (b. 1924) to make an edition of eight of a total of fourteen of his readymades. The asking price for an entire set was $25,000. To his friend John Cage (1912-92), Duchamp’s approval for the edition appeared like ‘a rather feeble attempt of a small businessman who tries to act in a businesslike way in a capitalist society.’[1-E]
Duchamp was not worried by interpretations like these. To him, a replica or a copy had the same status as the original, whose uniqueness he aimed to question. In any case, most of the original readymades had been lost by 1964. Moreover, Duchamp knew that in the time of Neo Dada and Pop Art his readymades had long forfeited their revolutionary, liberating and iconoclastic status. Their place now was centre stage in the discourse about modern art. Max Ernst’s (1881-1976) take on the influx of replicas of the readymades came close to what his friend had in mind: ‘I asked myself if it wasn’t a new attempt to throw public opinion, to deceive his admirers, to encourage his imitators by his bad example, etc. When I asked him, he answered laughingly: “Yes, it was all of that”.’[2-E] When Duchamp was asked in 1966 whether he had forsaken his ‘heroic standpoint, the disdain of commerce’ and ‘destroyed his myth’[3-E] by authorizing the reproductions of his works, he answered: ‘Ah. Complaining and whining, are they? They ought to be saying “It’s atrocious, it'’s an outrage, a disgrace.” It would have suited them nicely to have me shut up in some category or formula. But that’s not my style. If they are dissatisfied, je m’en fous. One mustn't give a F—. Et merde, ha ha.’[4-E] In his decision to agree to the edition of 1964-65, Duchamp was guided by his twin principles of indifference and contradiction. However, this does not mean that he did not differentiate. ‘If you make an edition of eight ready-mades, like a sculpture ... that is not overdoing it. There is something called “multiples”, that go up to one hundred and fifty, two hundred copies. Now, there I do object because it is really getting too vulgar in a useless way.’[5-E]
Many Duchamp scholars, most of all Schwarz, have pointed out the strict visual adherence of the 1964-65 edition of his readymades to the lost originals. All of them were crafted from old photographs of the originals and were approved by Duchamp with his signature on the working drawings as the blueprint for their production. Yet the dissimilarities are striking and not just because the originals were mass-produced objects and the edition was created by craftsmen. For example, when comparing the 1916 version to the 1964—65 edition of the readymade Comb (rendez-vous) — the only original readymade that had not been lost — it becomes apparent that the latter is missing two teeth. Is it possible that Duchamp was aware of this, and that he enjoyed the fact? ‘Classity combs by the number of their teeth’ reads an early note, in which ‘the space between two teeth as a unit’ could be made use of as a ‘proportional control’.[6-E] The replicas and editions of Duchamp’s readymades relate to the artist’s concept of infrathin, as outlined in his posthumously published notes, in the way that they probe the infinitesimal difference between objects that look alike.
LOUIS MICHEL EILSHEMIUS
In a survey of artists from 1919, Duchamp named Louis Eilshemius (1864-1941) as the painter he most admired.[7-E] Two years earlier, Duchamp had declared the artist’s work Rose-Marie Calling (Supplication) (1916) to be one of his two favourites among the over 2,100 artworks on display at New York's First Exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists (Fountain).
Duchamp’s patronage and support of the self-taught American painter Eilshemius, with his landscapes and tableaux of mostly nude young women, was not just another prank with which the artist meant to upset those around him. He made possible Eilshemius’s first one-person show at the Société Anonyme in New York and was eager to exhibit his work in Europe. Duchamp wrote enthusiastically about him two years after his death, thinking it a ‘tragedy’ that he ‘never was able to convince his fellow citizens that his paintings were the expression of a subtle America ... devoid of the teachings of any of the art schools of the moment. He was a true individualist, as artists of our time should be, who never joined any group.’[8-E] Duchamp may have had his own motivation for offering such kind words to a painter who was almost a quarter of a century his senior. Indeed, it has not gone unnoticed that the nude in Eilshemius’s Rose-Marie Calling (Supplication), with her raised arm and bent knee, bears more than a passing resemblance to the figure in Duchamp’s major final work Étant donnés(1946—66).
Thanks to Duchamp, Eilshemius was saved from obscurity, with pre-eminent American art critics of the time such as Henry McBride (1867-1962) and Clement Greenberg (1909-94) beginning to recognize the painter, the latter hailing ‘the phantasmagorical character’ as ‘one of the best artists we have ever produced’.[9-E] Later, artists such as Louise Bourgeois (1911-2010) and Jeff Koons (b. 1955) began to collect his work.
EJACULATE
While art historical reports on the use of sperm for mixing egg tempera colours between the 1st and 15th centuries are considered anecdotal, Duchamp was the first artist on record to unofficially employ this erotically charged material. He kept quiet about its use in his small work Paysage Fautif (1946), or Faulty Landscape, which he presented to his lover Maria Martins (1894-1973), the sculptor and wife of the Brazilian ambassador to New York. Part of her Box-in-a-Valise, Paysage Fautif consists of ejaculate on Astralon mounted onto dark velvet (onanism). It was identified as such only in 1987, by the FBI laboratories in Houston, Texas, where the work was presented to the public for the first time as part of an exhibition at the nearby Menil Collection. Duchamp’s collage pre-dates by more than a quarter of a century Vito Acconci’s (b. 1940) masturbating beneath the floorboards of the Sonnabend Gallery, New York, in 1971, and by roughly half a century Takashi Murakami’s (b. 1962) Lonesome Cowboy (2001) and Dash Snow’s (1981-2009) Fuck the Police (2007), both of which feature sperm rather prominently.
MAX ERNST
In his 1945 vignette for the catalogue of the Société Anonyme, Duchamp called Max Ernst (1881-1976) ‘extremely prolific’ and highlighted his major role in Dada and Surrealism. He also gave him credit for his ‘technical discoveries’,[10-E] among them frottage, but not without pointing out that this method of rubbing with a drawing tool over paper placed above a textured surface was based on an old Chinese tradition. Duchamp was close to Ernst’s first wife, Peggy Guggenheim (1898-1979), and it was Ernst’s second, the artist Dorothea Tanning (1910-2012), who played the matchmaker between Duchamp and his future wife Alexina Sattler (Teeny; 1906-95).
Duchamp and Ernst were both exiled in New York during the Second World War and Duchamp once presented his chess partner with a tea towel featuring Leonardo’s Mona Lisa (c. 1503-19) to which he had added a moustache and goatee (L.H.O.O.Q.). As a member of the jury (judging), Duchamp saw to it that Ernst’s painting The Temptation of St. Anthony (1946) won first prize in a competition to be featured in a Hollywood movie. When André Breton (1896-1966) and Ernst argued about their ‘professional indebtedness toward each other’ only Duchamp, as Robert Motherwell (1915-91) remembered, could manage to calm them down ‘with his detachment, his fairness’ and ‘his innate sensitivity.’[11-E] More recently, art historians have focused on the themes common to Duchamp’s and Ernst’s work — from Catholicism to questions of identity[12-E] — yet the two artists’ indebtedness to one another, if any, remains as elusive as Ernst’s abstract Hommage à Marcel Duchamp (1970), a whimsical colour etching and aquatint edition that does not reveal anything, even to the learned eye.
EROTICISM
Duchamp believed that sexuality and eroticism were at ‘the basis of everything and no one talks about it’.[13-E] Eroticism was the subject most dear to his heart and something he took very seriously. When a scholar approached him about why that was the case within a work otherwise defined by humour, Duchamp returned the question by asking him whether he ‘had ever tried to laugh while making love?’[14-E] (fourth dimension). The ancient Greek playwright Aristophanes (c. 446-c. 386 BC), with whose writings Duchamp was familiar, emphasized the soul’s earnestness within erotic passion, far exceeding mere carnal lust or sex drive.
As someone who named his alter ego Rrose Sélavy (Eros, c’est la vie, or Eros is Life), the place of eroticism within Duchamp’s work was, of course, ‘enormous. Visible or conspicuous, or, at any rate, underlying’.[15-E] From his early nudes to his major works, eroticism and desire — most often unfulfilled or solitary — were fundamental guiding principles for Duchamp’s creative production. In addition are the many puns and works that border on the pornographic. Although Duchamp did not treat eroticism lightly, it does not mean that a certain sense of amusement was banned from the subject entirely.
EROTIC OBJECTS
‘Some bizarre artifacts’[16-E] is how the media welcomed the peculiar objects Duchamp started exhibiting in the early 1950s. Their erotic content was not lost on the press, which called them ‘bronze, phallic, male’ or ‘plaster, triangular, très femelle’.[17-E] The first description refers to Objet-Dard (1951), the second to Female Fig Leaf (1950). Together with Not a Shoe (1950) and Wedge of Chastity (1954), these small sculptures started to appeér as bronzes or copper-electroplated plaster casts — with a base made of dental plastic in the case of Wedge of Chastity, which was a wedding gift to Alexina Sattler (Teeny; 1906-95) — as singular items or editions throughout the 1950s and early 1960s.
While it may be argued that every work created by Duchamp is in fact an erotic object, these sculptures, although it was not realized at the time, all turned out to be connected to the artist’s posthumously revealed Étant donnés (1946-66). Like the halt a dozen additional small sculptures first presented in an exhibition about Étant donnés at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 2009, they share the same origin in that they are all moulds, casts or tools that were used in the process of creating the most intimate body parts of the naked female torso in Duchamp’s final assemblage.
ERRATUM MUSICAL
During a New Year’s visit to Rouen in 1913, the twenty-five-year-old Duchamp cut up seventy-five musical notes, put them into a hat and took turns with his sisters Magdeleine (1898-1979) and Yvonne (b. 1895) to pick them out at random. He thus arrived at a composition whose score was also comprised of the twenty-five syllables of a French dictionary’s definition of the word ‘imprimer’, or imprint’. As a visual artist, Duchamp, ~within a few hours on a single day, introduced chance to music and in the process changed the genre forever.
Another Erratum Musical of the same year bears the full title of his Large Glass (1915-23). Left incomplete, the randomly determined score involves a piano player, eighty-five numbered balls indicating notes (one ball per piano key), and an elaborate system of small wagons and a funnel. Decades later, when John Cage (1912-92) was working on similarly innovative themes and learned of Erratum Musical, Duchamp told him that, as with so many other things, he had simply been ‘fifty years ahead of my time’.[18-E]
ESOTERIC
‘All that was once esoteric, has become exoteric.’[19-E] For this, Duchamp blamed the overpéwering forces of commercialism in the art world, which, within only a hundred years, had turned art into a commodity like ‘beans’ or ‘spaghetti’.[20-E] The term manages to retain its mystery, however, defying definition: ‘Esotericism should not be mental. It should have ritual.’[21-E]
ÉTANT DONNÉS
Duchamp’s major work, Étant donnés: 1. la chute d’eau / 2. le gaz d’eclairage (Given: 1. The Waterfall / 2. The Illuminating Gas), was first revealed to the public at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 1969, about nine months after the artist’s death. According to an accompanying installation manual, he had worked on the assemblage in New York between 1946 and 1966. Through two peepholes in a massive wooden door, the onlooker views a brick wall with a large opening, behind which the torso of a naked woman lies spreadeagled on autumn branches and leaves. Her shaved genitalia are exposed and she is holding up a shining gas lamp. In the background, there is a forest landscape with clouds made from cotton and a glistening waterfall consisting of layers of transparent glue, lit by a bulb from behind and seemingly set in motion through the trickery of a rotating motor. According to singer-songwriter Björk (b. 1965), ‘this artwork completely changed the 20th century’.[22-E] It inspired Jeft Koons’s (b. 1955) series of Landscape paintings of 2007-9 and the work of dozens of internationally renowned artists — from Andy Warhol (1928-87) and Hannah Wilke (1940-93) to Robert Gober (b. 1954) and Marcel Dzama (b. 1974) — as well as an abundance of books, academic articles and PhD theses. Many Duchamp scholars regard Étant donnés as a shocking and controversial artwork, but not everyone reacted in such a way at the time it was first shown in public. Critic John Canaday (1907-85), writing for the New York Times, thought that ‘for the first time, this cleverest of 20th century masters looks a bit retardaire’ or, in short, ‘Very interesting, but nothing new.’[23-E]
Duchamp used casts of body parts of Maria Martins (1894-1973), Mary Reynolds (1891-1950) and Alexina Sattler (Teeny; 1906-95) for the consciously distorted anatomy of the torso at the centre of the work. When a treasure trove of photographs taken by Duchamp of Étant donnés and kept hidden in a Dom Pérignon champagne box came to public attention in 2009, the revelation was not so much about his monastic existence (Dom Pérignon being the monk credited with inventing champagne) but about the word on the box preceding Dom Pérignon — Cuvée, or ‘blend’ — a hint that the torso is a composite of parts from different bodies. But are we looking at a defiled woman, a crime scene, or are at least some onlookers meant to be aroused by this elaborate peep show revolving around the ‘lady of desire’,[24-E] as Duchamp once called her? After all, in the late 1920s, he had related to his friend Julien Levy (1906—81) his wish to create a ‘machine onaniste’ and to make ‘a life-size articulated dummy, a mechanical woman whose vagina, contrived of meshed springs and ball bearings, would be contractile.’[25-E]
Is the nude in Étant donnés supposed to be dead or alive and, if she 1s dead, how can she hold up a gas lamp? Or could the trompe-l'oeil be meant as an allegory, with the torso of the nude being the ‘fallen’ bride of the Large Glass (1915-23)? The dried up leaves on which the torso rests suggest the ‘fall’, or autumn, as Duchamp’s American artist friend, William Copley (1919-96), first pointed out.[26-E] Although Duchamp left no direct clues about this, he does describe the season in one of his letters: ‘Autumn is quite beautiful here but all the same has a funereal air, like all beautiful autumns — something like a funereal relaxation of things.’[27-E] In his notes on the concept of infrathin, next to a drawing of a flattened capital M that suggests the initial of his surname as well as a pair of legs spread wide open, Duchamp jotted down ‘carcass (pseudo-scientific)’.[28-E]
Throughout Duchamp’s notes and visual works, there are many allusions to water and gas, eroticism and the fourth dimension that may be pertinent when contemplating Étant donnés. In retrospect, even the puzzling erotic objects of the early 1950s can be viewed within the context of the work’s process of production. As we know from writers as diverse as Ovid (43 BC—AD 17/18) and Charles Baudelaire (1821-67), porn and poetry need not be mutually exclusive, an idea that is clearly demonstrated by Étant donnés. The work is surprising in that it breaks with many, if not all, of our preconceived notions of Duchamp. It just might be that this is precisely what he had in mind.
NOTES: E
[1-E] Moira and William Roth, ‘John Cage on Marcel Duchamp: An Interview’ (1973), in Carlos Basualdo and Erica F. Battle (eds), Dancing Around the Bride. Cage, Cunningham, Rauschenberg, and Duchamp, Philadelphia Museum of Art, 30 October 2012-21 January 2013, and Barbican Art Gallery, London, 14 February-9 June 2013 (exh. cat.), New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012, pp. 126-38, p. 133. [2-E] Ernst and Duchamp quoted in Francis M. Naumann, Marcel Duchamp. The Art of Making Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, New York: Abrams, 1999, p. 28. [3-E] Hahn quoted in Otto Hahn, ‘Marcel Duchamp Interviewed’ (1966), in Anthony Hill (ed.), Duchamp: Passim, Langhorne, PA: G+B Arts International, 1994, pp. 7-72, p.71. [4-E] Duchamp quoted in Hahn, ibid. [5-E] Quoted in Philippe Collin, Marcel Duchamp, television interview for the programe ‘Nouveaux Dimanches’ at the Galerie Givaudan, Paris, 21 June 1967; English translation published as ‘Marcel Duchamp Talking about Ready-mades’, in Museum Jean Tinguely Basel (ed.), 2002, pp. 37-42, p. 38. [6-E] Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, p. 71. [7-E] George de Zayas, Caricatures: Huit peintres deux sculpteurs et musicien très modernes (text by Curnonsky), Paris, 1919, n.p. [8-E] Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, pp. 127-37, pp. 148, 149. [9-E] Quoted in John Russell, ‘Assembling Scattered Works by the Cognescenti’s Painter’, in New York Times (28 November 2001), pp. E1, E4, p. E4. [10-E] Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson (eds), The Writings of Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1989, p. 149. [11-E] Robert Motherwell, ‘Introduction’, in Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, pp. 7-12, p. 10. [12-E] See David Hopkins, Marcel Duchamp and Max Ernst. The Bride Shared. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. [13-E] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 88. [14-E] Serge Stautter, Marcel Duchamp. Die Schriften, Zürich: Regenbogen, 1981, p. 276. [15-E] Pierre Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, New York: Da Capo, 1987, p. 88. [16-E] Stuart Preston, ‘Diverse Facets: Moderns in Wide Variety’, New York Times, section 10 (20 December 1953), 1953, p. 12. [17-E] Fitzsimmons, ‘Art’, Arts & Decoration (February 1953), p. 81. [18-E] Helen Meany, ‘Duchamp’s influence on US artists’, The Irish Times (24 December 2012). [19-E] Georges Charbonnier, Six entretiens avec Marcel Duchamp, RTF France Culture radio broadcast, 9 December 1960-13 January 1961. [20-E] Ibid. [21-E] Quoted in Gough-Cooper and Caumont, in Pontus Hultén (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993, within the entry for 9 August 1967, n.p. [22-E] Quoted in Thomas Venter, ‘Der Look Passiert Nicht', Süddeutsche Zeitung (Munich, 27 August 2001). [23-E] John Canaday, ‘Philadelphia Museum Shows Final Duchamp Work’, New York Times (7 July 1969), reprint Philadelphia Museum of Art: Education Division, 1973, n.p. [24-E] Duchamp, in a letter to Maria Martins of 19 November 1949 (?), quoted in Michael Taylor, Étant donnés, Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2009, p. 419. [25-E] Julien Levy, Memoirs of an Art Gallery, New York: Putnam, 1977. [26-E] William Copley, ‘The New Piece’, Art in America, vol. 57, no. 4 (New York, July-August 1969), p. 36. [27-E] Duchamp, in a letter to Maria Martins of 12 October 1948, quoted in Michael Taylor, Étant donnés, Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2009, p. 409. [28-E] Paul Matisse (ed.), Marcel Duchamp, Notes, Boston: G. K. Hall, 1983, n.p. (Note na. 24).
