Toilet Humour Or Art?

We could have just ignored it, or laughed it off. But no, the contemporary art world had to tie itself in knots over Marcel Duchamp’s “Fountain”, which was submitted to the Society of Independent Artists first exhibition in New York in 1917. Fountain is one of a series of “readymades” produced by Duchamp at the time.  

Duchamp later recalled that the idea for Fountain arose from a discussion with the collector Walter Arensberg and the artist Joseph Stella. He purchased a urinal from a sanitary ware supplier and submitted it – or arranged for it to be submitted to the exhibition. The Society was bound by its constitution to accept all submissions, but it made an exception to Fountain. It was excluded from the exhibition and Arensberg and Duchamp resigned from the Society in protest.

‘Fountain’, 1917

The decision of the Society seemed to run contrary to its advertised ethos of “no jury – no prizes”. Duchamp had moved from Paris to New York in 1915, and with his friends Henri-Pierre Roche and Beatrice Wood wanted to assert the independence of art in America.  

In its article, The Tate makes reference to Duchamp’s painting “Nude Descending A Staircase No.2” being withdrawn from the Salon des Indépendants in Paris in 1912. Duchamp apparently saw this as an extraordinary betrayal and described it as a turning point in his life. Thus, the submission of Fountain could be seen as an experiment by Duchamp in testing the commitment of the new American Society to the principals of freedom of expression and its tolerance of new conceptions of art.

‘Nude Descending A Staircase No.2’, 1912

So, what are we to make of Fountain? Was it part of Duchamp’s stated objective that anything can be a work of art if the artist says so? According to the Tate, the original is lost which begs the question why bother producing replicas of it and why is it considered one of the icons of twentieth century art? Artist Matthew Collings ask the question is Duchamp’s readymades all part of a ‘no skill is needed joke’? 

“It was really trying to kill the artist as a God by himself” - Duchamp, commenting on Fountain. He was keen to remove the artist from the pedestal that he created for himself. Collings describes Fountain as the measure of all irony, now preserved at the Pompidou Centre in Paris – although copies can be found everywhere including any hardware store, come to think if it. Yet when I visit the sanitary section, I never think of Duchamp. Why? 

“My idea was to choose an object that wouldn’t attract me either by its beauty or its ugliness, to find a point of indifference in my looking at it” - Duchamp commenting on his readymades. Collings sees Duchamp’s art as the first stirrings of avant-gardism in the 20th century, an avant-gardism that was not concerned with pursuing quality in art, but instead of quality. Collings believes Duchamp is responsible for the fact that no one really knows what quality is in modern art.

‘Bicycle Wheel’ - one of Duchamp’s Readymades

Duchamp’s first criteria for the art he produced was that it should amuse him, but then he thought it shouldn’t be what everyone else thinks art should be about – that is; the skill of the artist’s hand. He thought there should be something more – the artist’s mind was just as important as the artist’s hand. 

In the 1960’s, just before he died, he was asked why when he wanted to destroy art, his readymades now seem so aesthetic and so part of art, he replied “well no one is perfect”. It’s argued that Duchamp opened the door to freedom in modern art, to feel free to do your own thing. Yet, Collings argues that Duchamp’s readymades are a devastating one-liner that has us questioning if we’ve reached the end of art. “Where can you go after that?” he asks. Duchamp’s answer was to play chess for many years. 

Collings asks if Duchamp’s readymades are the sickly green light of cultures’ last meltdown. I like Collings’ description of Fountain being the asteroid of irony hurtling through artspace, a symbol of culture nowadays being empty and frivolous in the eyes of many. But he acknowledges the seriousness in Duchamp’s art too. 

But Duchamp never gave up entirely on art, he just produced it secretively. An earlier blog of mine “The Woman Who Conquered Marcel Duchamp” discusses this.  

References; 

Tate.org.au 

‘This is Modern Art’, BBC Channel 4, 1999 presented by Matthew Collings 

Martin Creed - When Nothing Matters?

What should we find in the toolbox of any successful artist?  Talent? (maybe). Networking skills? (you bet). Hard work and dedication? (of course). A gregarious nature? (it helps). And nerve? (well in the case of British artist Martin Creed – absolutely.)

There’s no point getting worked up about the stuff that pours out of Creed’s studio, he has been successful for many years and has work in collections that include the Museum of Modern Art in New York.  A composer and performer as well as an artist, Creed who was born in 1968 achieved worldwide notoriety in 2001 when he won the Turner Prize with an installation of a light going on and off in a room.  The jury praised the work saying, they "admired the audacity in presenting a single work in the exhibition and noted its strength, rigour, wit and sensitivity to the site".

Creed (on the right) with his first band Owada  (Artimage)

He has been a member of bands producing one note compositions and songs featuring minimalist repetitive lyrics such as “Nothing” and “Fuck Off”.   Creed comes from a musical background – his parents played the cello and piano.

In his 1999 BBC series “This Is Modern Art”, artist Matthew Collings argues that artists who emerged in the 1990’s (such as Creed) were accepting of the nothingness in contemporary art because their sensibilities had been formed at art school by 1980’s blankness, they found normal the ‘icy white nothingness that art had become.’

Collings takes Creed to task over the work “Screwed Up Sheet of A4 Paper”.  Creed said he wanted to make something from a piece of paper and a sphere seemed the most obvious shape.  He likes that it seems to disappear when you “put it in the world.  It looks like a reasonably well made sphere”.  Collings laughs, “No it’s not, it’s just a screwed up piece of paper”.  He asks what’s the concept, how does he make a screwed up piece of paper into a sphere and then a work of art?  Creed responds “I don’t call it a work of art, it’s a sphere – a ball of paper”.  Is Creed being disingenuous?

Creed gives all his work numbers as titles.  He doesn’t want to distinguish between any of them. He says he doesn’t have any philosophical basis to make decisions about a work of art or life, or any basis at all to make decisions.  Deciding on what coloured shirt to buy is a challenge.  He starts from nothing.

Work No 701 (2007)

Charlotte Higgins from The Guardian had her work cut out trying to discover what makes Creed ‘tick’ as an artist.  He claims to make no distinction between producing his work and life, such as buying a pair of trousers.  “It’s all about trying to live, you know”.  He finds everything in the world profound and claims not to know what art is. “It's a magic thing because it's to do with feelings people have when they see something. If the work is successful, it's because of some magic quality it has." A magic quality the artist has put into it? Asks Higgins.  "It's not in the work," he says. "People use the work to help them make something in themselves. So the work is a catalyst." 

Knowing that Creed can be brought to tears by Beethoven, she asks him if a pair of trousers can make him cry.  "No," he concedes. "But I don't sit listening to a pair of trousers for 40 minutes."  Higgins was getting nowhere.

Work No. 200 (2007)

In 2014, Creed held a massive retrospective at London’s Hayward Gallery titled “What’s The Point Of It?” This included a row of nails banged into a wall, a huge video of a penis slowly becoming erect before deflating again (for the over 18s), and if you think that’s tasteless, I’ll spare you the details of 2 other videos. There’s a Ford Focus which suddenly comes alive with doors, bonnet, and tailgate opening, radio playing, engine running – getting the power windows to operate was a work in progress. Critics argue that Creed treads a very fine line between the mindfully simple and simple minded.

Work No. 1686 (2013)

In reviewing the exhibition, the Guardian’s Tim Adams states “you can't help feeling you might need quite a low bar for knowingness, a spotless mind for innocence, a Buddhist master's understanding of joy, to appreciate it fully.”  Thus with his difficulty in making judgements, on deciding whether one thing is more important than another, Creed simply gives that ‘thing’ a number and adds it to his collection.

Perhaps a century on from Duchamp, nothing has changed.

References;

“This Is Modern Art”, BBC Channel 4  (1999)

The Guardian

Maurizio Cattelan - Prankster Artist

It’s probably best if I commence this blog with a quote from gallerist Adam Lindemann, “I think he’s probably one of the greatest artists that we have today, but he could also be the worst. It’s going to be one or the other.  It’s not going to fall in the middle.”

With an artist like Maurizio Cattelan, I’ve wondered if it would be more appropriate to cram this blog with images of his work and write nothing – allowing viewers to draw their own conclusions.  Critic Ben Lewis has been a fan of Cattelan for years, even making a documentary film about him in 2003.  He considers Cattelan to have a unique, comical imagination who produces work that is politically and critically engaged – a cartoonist who works in 3D.

“Stephanie” (2003) This sculpture of Stephanie Seymour was commissioned by her magnate husband Peter Brant. A trophy wife? It was sold at auction in 2010 for over $2.4m.

Of course it would make life easier if Cattelan gave interviews, but until recently he didn’t.  Instead he engaged a “double” to act on his behalf who was under strict instructions not to answer questions.  But naturally, being a reclusive simply adds to the mystery of his work.

“Untitled” (2001) An elevator for mice?

He’s been described as an art world upstart who for years has produced playful, provocative and subversive work that sends up the artistic establishment.  A classic example is when he duct taped his dealer Massimo di Carlo to the wall of a gallery for a day.  Later di Carlo had to be rushed to hospital after he almost suffered a stroke.

“A Perfect Day” 1999

So there is a cruel twist to Cattelan’s humour which is reminiscent of medieval imagery.  And typical of many artists these days, he doesn’t make his own work.  He employs skilled craftsman, taxidermists etc to do it for him – sometimes remotely.  The craftsman who made the model for the Pope struck by a meteorite had no idea what Cattelan’s objectives were.  He thought Cattelan wanted a kneeling Pope.  Afterwards, Cattelan cut the legs off before plonking the rock over him.

“The Ninth Hour” (2003) This work was once exhibited at the Royal Academy before being auctioned for almost $1m in New York.

Sometimes, Cattelan’s black humour is directed towards himself.  When a publisher wanted to make a book about his work, Cattelan insisted it be a quarter of the size of other books in the series.  Taking his cue from Duchamp and the conceptualists, Cattelan was exploiting the nonsense that art had become.  He once exhibited a crime report prepared by the police after he claimed a work of his called Invisible was stolen from his girlfriend’s car.

“Him”. (2001) Hitler in the body of a 12 yo. Is he praying for forgiveness?

Clearly, one of Cattelan’s objectives is to question the relevance of contemporary art to the rest of society by poking fun at it.  He achieves this brilliantly in the work “Strategies” in which the contemporary art scene is presented as a house of cards.  Flash Art was a leading arts publication at the time.

“Strategies” (1990)

Cattelan claimed he was retiring in 2011.  I doubt if anyone took him seriously.  Five years later he came up with “America”, a fully functioning toilet made out of 18 carat gold.  Then in December 2019 he created a storm at the Art Basel in Miami Beach when he exhibited “Comedian” – a real banana taped to a wall.  Produced in an edition of 3, it was priced at $120,000 and the edition was sold out.

“America” (2016) and “Comedian” (2019).

The Guardian draws a comparison between the 2 works.  In America he seems to be reducing a precious metal to the base for disposing the results of consuming bananas.  “Cattelan’s toilet mocked the money-obsessed art world by being potentially more valuable for its raw material than its concept – reflecting a market that can turn shit into gold. His banana makes the same joke the other way round by being glaringly not worth its asking price.”

Perhaps. And that’s the thing about Maurizio Cattelan.  Born in Italy in 1960, the son of a cleaning lady and a truck driver, he had no formal art training but has become the master of ambiguity.

A retrospective of Maurizio Cattelan held at the Guggenheim Museum in 2011.

References;  How To Get A Head in the Art World – Art Safari BBC 2003

                      Bananaman; Who Is Maurizio Cattelan? – The Art Newspaper podcast 2019

                     Don’t Make Fun At The $120,000 Banana - The Guardian