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The Top Ten Exhibitions and Artworks I Saw in 2017

Each year I do a list post about the best art I saw over the past twelve months. I don’t claim that these are the best exhibitions of 2017, because I don’t see nearly enough to make that claim. But I still think it’s worth keeping a log of the exhibitions and artworks that moved me this year. These are listed in the order in which I saw them. Most are newly created, but some are… definitely not. I always see good work at ArtPrize, but I never include it on these lists because that would seem a little too insular.

1. Richard Misrach and Guillermo Galindo, Border Cantos: Sight & Sound Explorations from the Mexican-American Border, Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Bentonville, Arkansas

I visited Crystal Bridges in Bentonville, Arkansas for the first time this year. When I was there they had a temporary exhibition called Border Cantos. It was a collaboration between photographer Richard Misrach and sculptor/sound artist Guillermo Galindo. Misrach provided stunning large-scale photos of the US-Mexico border, while Galindo exhibited sculptures that doubled as musical instruments made from detritus collected from the borderlands. The images and objects were creative, playful, sorrowful, and devastating all at once, over and over again (it was a big show). The curation and didactics were also wonderful. Here in this deep red state was a show that unapologetically humanized the experience of the people who cross this border for a chance at a better life. It’s a landscape packed with stories of struggle for freedom and opportunity. What could be more American than that?

2. Irena Haiduk’s SER (Seductive Exacting Realism), Documenta 14, Kassel, Germany

I visited Documenta for the second time this year. Documenta is the massively influential exhibition that takes place in Kassel, Germany once every five years. Except this year it was split between Kassel and Athens (I didn’t see the Athens part). Overall the Kassel portion was a little underwhelming, but there were some really powerful moments. One of my favorite works was a multifaceted project by Irena Haiduk called SER (Seductive Exacting Realism). It consisted of installation, performance, crayon rubbing, sitting in a dark room listening to recorded voices, and a merchandise line of shoes and dresses. I wrote about it on my blog earlier this year, in a post called Art is a Waiting Room. The piece seemed to sum up a certain uneasiness in a way very few artworks do at the moment.

3. Lorenza Böttner, various works, Documenta 14, Kassel, Germany

Another part of Documenta 14 that really stuck with me was an installation of photographs, paintings, drawings, and artifacts from Lorenza Böttner. Böttner was a local trans and disabled artist who was active in the 80’s and 90’s until eventually losing her life to AIDS in 1994. It was a smart choice to include a dense collection of images and text–only a small portion of which is shown above–as it gave viewers the chance to grasp Böttner’s important biography. She was born male, lost both her arms in an electrocution accident as a child, then went on to forge a career as an artist and a woman who challenged one convention after another. The work was funny and harrowing and felt way ahead of its time.

4. Teresa Hubbard and Alexander Birchler’s Flora, Swiss Pavilion, Venice Biennale

After Documenta I went on to the Venice Biennale. The main show was alright, but nothing stood out as a real show-stopper. There were some wonderful national pavilions, however, which are organized independently of the main show. My favorite was the Swiss Pavilion, which had sculptures by Carol Bove and a two-channel video installation by Teresa Hubbard and Alexander Birchler titled Flora. Two videos were projected on the opposite sides of a single screen, which shared one audio track. One video takes the form of a documentary, the other is a reenactment. Together they tell the story of Flora Mayo, and relatively unknown American artist who studied in Paris in the 1920’s, when she was briefly Alberto Giacometti’s lover. The piece takes what was an art historical bit part and reveals a complex and tragic story of a remarkable woman. There’s an interview with Flora’s son, who is still alive, that brought me to tears. It occurred to me that art history must be riddled with other “Floras,” mostly under-appreciated and forgotten women, erased from the dominant narratives of the male artist geniuses.

5. Jacobo Tintoretto’s portrait of Doge Marino Faliero, Doge’s Palace, Venice

In Venice I visited the Palazzo Ducale, or Doge’s Palace, a massive 14th century gothic complex in central Venice. For centuries it served at the residence of the Doge, the ruler of the Republic of Venice, before being turned into a museum in 1923. The tour is very long, passing through many intricately ornamented chambers, medieval armories, and dungeons. Eventually I reached the Chamber of the Great Council, an enormous room containing what they claim is the world’s largest painting on canvas, Tintoretto’s Il Paradiso. Every other surface is covered by paintings as well, including a row of 76 portraits near the ceiling depicting each Doge in the order of their rule, along with a scroll saying what they accomplished. Near one corner a portrait is missing, and in it’s place is a painting of a black cloth with the latin inscription, “Hic est locus Marini Faletro decapitati pro criminibus,” or, “This is the space reserved for Marino Faliero, beheaded for his crimes.” Faliero was the Doge for only a few months from 1354-55, when he attempted a coup d’etat. The coup failed and he was beheaded. A label on the wall below explains that Faliero was considered a traitor to the Republic, and was condemned not only to death but also “damnatio memoriae, the total eradication of his memory and name.” There’s a certain irony to this, of course, because I only learned his name by seeing his lack of a portrait, which contains an inscription that includes his name. I won’t go too far into it here in this list post, but being in Europe in the midst of the slow-motion train wreck of the Trump administration afforded me a welcome dose of historic and geographic perspective. Sometimes great societies have terrible leaders. Empires survive, but the stains linger. How will we remember the things we want so badly to forget?

6. Philip Guston and the Poets, Gallerie dell’Accademia, Venice

Another show I saw in Venice that was not part of the Biennale was this stunning Guston show that traced his relationship with the work of five poets: D. H. Lawrence, W. B. Yeats, Wallace Stevens, Eugenio Montale and T. S. Eliot. I already liked Guston, but this show revealed remarkable things about the work I hadn’t seen before. The wall text, which included plenty of poetry, was the best I’ve seen.

7. Walter De Maria’s The New York Earth Room, New York

A few weeks ago I went to New York for a screening of the ArtPrize documentary, More Art Upstairs. I figured out that my hotel was a few blocks from De Maria’s New York Earth Room, which I’d never seen before. The work is relatively large apartment on the second floor of a building in SoHo that’s filled with about two feet of dirt. It’s maintained and staffed by the Dia Art Foundation, and they keep regular open hours. You have to buzz in to an inconspicuous doorway, then follow signs leading up a narrow flight of stairs. The apartment contains a small lobby with the attendant’s desk, and the rest is filled with dirt. You can’t walk on the dirt, and you’re not even supposed to photograph it. The same dirt has been sitting there since 1977. There’s something very comforting about know that that mass will always just sit there, impenetrable, oblivious to everything around it. My favorite feature is that the dirt extends into another room. You can see some of the room through an open doorway, but most of the dirt in there will never be visible to anyone. It just exists.

8. Pedro Lasch’s Reflections on Time, Prospect.4, New Orleans

In November I went to New Orleans for the opening of the Prospect.4 triennial. The entire show was excellent, and a lot of the best people I know in the art world were there. I’m highlighting two works on this list that really stood out. The first is Reflections on Time by Pedro Lasch. Prospect.4 is staged in venues across the city, including museums and less traditional spaces. This project was installed in an antique shop in the French Quarter, and Lasch took that opportunity to collaborate with the shop and integrate their collection into the work. A small gallery is lined with black mirrors, dark reflective rectangles of glass, each with a faint image printed on them. In front of each glass is a pedestal containing an ornate antique clock, the faces of which can best be seen as a reflection in reverse. The images printed in the mirrors are also borrowed, from art history and popular culture, each one relating to the theme of time in a different way. The gallery containing the installation was at the very back of the store, so that in order to see it I had to wander through a labyrinth of ornate artifacts. Once I finally made it to the artwork, I was ready to think about time.

9. Naama Tsabar’s Composition, Prospect.4, New Orleans

For Prospect.4, Tsabar staged a performance in her ongoing Composition series. About twenty local musicians, all women, stood atop amps or small platforms in a triangular arrangement in a city park. A drone began emanating from the amps, as the crowd moved around the stoic musicians, they began playing songs commissioned by Tsabar. There were three groups and three songs. They went one at a time around the circle, then they all played all three songs at once, layering and looping the sounds together. Each audience member heard their own audio mix depending on where they stood. At first, the crowd only moved around the periphery, positioning itself in front of whichever musicians were playing. But shortly after they all started playing at once, a group of five or six junior-high aged girls walked right into the array of amps and platforms. It was like membrane suddenly ruptured, and the whole crowd suddenly flooded in. The emotional resonance of certain keys of music is something I don’t fully understand, but there was some magical version of it happening there. I cried.

10. The Music Box Village, New Orleans

The artist party for Prospect.4 was held at an incredible venue that doubles as an artwork. The Music Box Village is a collection of bespoke buildings, forts, gazebos and other structures that are all functional musical instruments. It’s a fusion of sculpture, architecture, and endlessly creative musical instrument design. The installation is build by a local nonprofit called New Orleans Airlift, and was not a part of Prospect.4 (except as an event venue). Toward the end of the party the building/instruments filled with performers and a raucous, site-specific concert commenced. Like Tsabar’s Composition, the sound depended on where you were. It was like the party was happening inside the musical instrument.

Top Ten Exhibitions and Artworks I Saw in 2016

It’s time again for my annual roundup of the best art I saw this year. Or put another way, here are a bunch of things I should have already written about, but I’m making myself do it now. These are listed in the order in which I saw them.

1. Carlos Bunga, Theaster Gates, and The Black Monks of Mississippi, “Under The Skin” at Stony Island Arts Bank, Chicago

Under The Skin

Theaster Gates opened the The Stony Island Arts Bank in the fall of 2015, it’s an art gallery, community center, and mind-bogglingly beautiful library. He invited Carlos Bunga to create a temporary cardboard installation in the vaulted lobby of the space. Bunga erected pillars of cardboard and painted sections with washy white paint. In January of 2016, for the close of the exhibition, Bunga, Gates, and The Black Monks of Mississippi performed an improvisational ballad/funeral march/ritual of creative destruction to uninstall the piece. The musicians walked among the crowd as they sang, and Bunga eventually cut and tore down his installation in a moving crescendo. Hard to describe, but I’ll never forget it.

2. The Propeller Group, “The Living Need Light, The Dead Need Music” at The Speed Museum, Louisville

Propeller Group

I actually saw this video twice this year, first at the re-opening of the Speed Museum in Louisville, Kentucky, and later at MCA Chicago. The Propeller Group created this 21 minute film for Prospect 3 in New Orleans in 2014. It’s a music video style blending of scenes of performers, brass bands, and funeral processions from both New Orleans and Vietnam. The spiritual, ritualistic, and environmental elements of these two places blur in to one manic, hallucinogenic experience. It’s wild.

3. Agnes Martin Retrospective at LACMA, Los Angeles

Agnes Martin

Writing about Agnes Martin is almost as almost as hard trying to get a good photo of an Agnes Martin painting. In April I went to Los Angeles for one day and I happened to catch this show on its first day, as well as the very last day of Random International’s “The Rain Room.” At some point in the future I’d like to write about how these two artists took the idea of the grid so far in opposite directions that they end up meeting again in some other dimension. But I’m still mulling that over.

4. “Non-Fiction” curated by Noah Davis at The Underground Museum, Los Angeles

non fiction

Noah Davis was a promising young artist who died of a rare form of cancer last year at the age of 32. Before his untimely passing, he established The Underground Museum in Arlington Heights, a working class neighborhood of Los Angeles. Despite his death, the museum continues through the support of his family, friends, and LA MOCA. Davis conceived of many exhibitions on paper, imagining provocative combinations of work, and these records are being used to continue his vision. In the photo above, Wife of a Lynch Victim, 1949, by Marion Palfi hangs atop a wallpaper by Robert Gober titled Hanging Man/Sleeping Man, 1989. In this simple layering, he combines two decades-old works by white artists to communicate a sense of terror and anxiety that perfectly sums up the year 2016–a year Noah Davis did not live to see. Months later, I am still absolutely floored by this show.

5. Andy Warhol, “Silver Clouds” at The Dennos Museum Center, Traverse City, Michigan

Silver Clouds

The Dennos Museum is a fine place to see art in Traverse City. If you’re up that way, you should go see their mind-bending collection of Inuit art. For their silver anniversary, they decided to install Warhol’s famous early example of interactive installation art, Silver Clouds from 1966. Several pillow-shaped mylar bags of helium slowly float around the room, nudged by the wind of a reticulating fan. Visitors can use a foam wand to bat them about as well. I saw a toddler run in there and go buck wild. It’s such a simple and beautiful idea, and one that spawned so much of the interactive and experiential artwork we see today. Dennos wasn’t really on my map before this, but they pulled off this installation flawlessly. I’ll be back.

6. Kerry James Marshall, “Mastry” at MCA Chicago


This retrospective of Marshall’s work is at the Met Breuer in New York now, but I caught the very end of its run at MCA Chicago. I always liked his work, but this show blew me away. Marshall reclaims and reanimates all the power of figurative historical painting, while critiquing painting’s exclusion and subversion of black bodies. It’s at once an adoring love letter and a blistering take-down of the history of Western painting. It’s stunning. The show also includes his legendary, tiny self portrait, Portrait of the Artist as a Shadow of His Former Self, 1980, which is up there with Barnett Newman’s Onement 1, 1948 in the category of best mustard seed painting, a small picture that represents a turning point of epochal change.

7. Marylin Minter, “Pretty Dirty” at The Brooklyn Museum


Minter’s work falls into the OMG-I-can’t-believe-that’s-a-PAINTING school of painting, which normally I’m not very excited about. But Minter’s exhibition of skill is in full service to the lush, overwhelming power of these images.

8. Zoe Leonard, “I want a president” at The High Line, New York City

Zoe Leonard

Zoe Leonard wrote this manifesto during the presidential election of 1992 (click here for a more readable version). It was circulated in various zines at the time. The High Line installed this large print version in October, on the occasion of the 2016 presidential election. It was installed when many people, myself and polling aggregators included, figured we were on the verge of electing our first female president. I saw the work in November, about a week after that historic milestone failed to happen. The curators couldn’t have known for sure the kind of blistering, antagonistic punch the work would acquire on November 8. We need these words now more than ever: “I want to know why we started learning somewhere down the line that the president is always a clown, always a john and never a hooker. Always a boss and never a worker, always a liar, always a thief and never caught.”

9. Mark Rothko, “Dark Palette” at Pace Gallery, New York City


This is another exhibition I saw on the trip I took to New York right after the election. And like Zoe Leonard, this show seemed to gain strange power in the wake of November 8. Rothko’s blocks of color manage to shimmer and vibrate and roil against each other, even as they approach black. It’s hard to describe the despair and rage that these pictures embodied for me in the wake of the election. Jerry Saltz posted something on Facebook, not related to this Rothko show, that nevertheless seemed to sum up the way these paintings felt in that moment. It’s a quote for D.H. Lawrence:

Doom! Doom! Doom! Something seems to whisper it in the very dark trees of America. Doom!
Doom of what?
Doom of our white day. We are doomed doomed doomed. And the doom is in America. The doom of our white day.

10. Julio Le Parc, “Form into Action” at the Perez Art Museum, Miami


I’ll end on a high note. I was delighted to experience the gleeful and frenetic experimentation in this survey of Le Parc, an artist I did not know previously. His career began in somewhat familiar territory of minimalism, op-art, and light and space, then evolved into a kaleidoscope of swirling funhouse mirrors, blinding light installations, and manic challenges to the viewer’s perception and sanity. A wild career that was somehow excluded from the art historical narrative I was taught.

Lolo the Donkey and the Avant-Garde That Never Was: Part 1

Note: This is part one of a three part series. All three parts were published on Michigan Quarterly Review. Part one, two, three.


Sunset Over the Adriatic

“Anything that’s in the world comes from something else, so everything is culture, or everything is nature, depending on how you wish to define these words.”

            -Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev

At the 1910 edition of the Salon des Indépendants in Paris, a messy, muddled painting of a sunset over the sea was exhibited. Titled Et le soleil s’endormit sur l’Adriatique (Sunset Over the Adriatic) (above), the picture was presented by the artist Joachim-Raphaël Boronali from Genoa, and was said to be a part of the “Excessivist” movement. The Excessivist movement did not exist, and neither did Boronali. Both were the invention of writer and critic Roland Dorgelès. Dorgelès and a few friends attached a paintbrush to the tail of a donkey named Lolo, a mascot and entertainer of sorts kept at a Montmartre bar called Le Lapin Agile.

boronali-lapin-agile-1Lolo the artist donkey is little more than a footnote in the history of Montmartre—filled with pranks, anarchist agitation, and ribald cabarets—and an even smaller blip in the history of the 20th century avant-garde art. The historical moment and various settings of this prank, Le Lapin Agile and the Salon des Indépendants in particular, were among the sites of radical transformation that forever changed the way art was created and viewed. What if Lolo was more than a footnote? What if the painting made by a donkey’s tail had been a turning point that set the trajectory of the entire history of art in the 20th century?

We only have the history we have, but in this series of blog posts I’m going to explore how things could have turned out differently. As is happens, there was a prank that radically altered the course of art history in the 20th century, but it was not Lolo the donkey, it was Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain (1917), a urinal turned on its back and signed with the pseudonym “R. Mutt”. A century later, contemporary art is still negotiating the implications of taking Duchamp’s joke seriously.

fountainGiven that the first few decades of the 20th century featured so many radical and inventive experiments questioning the nature of art, it’s worth considering what would have happened if a different joke had been taken seriously. Duchamp’s long shadow was not inevitable. It is only one of many possible historical trajectories whose certainty is an illusion propped up by randomness and social influence. Lolo the Donkey could have provided a framework for the 20th century avant-garde that would have been just as provocative and fruitful as Duchamp’s urinal, focused not on the artist’s ability to declare common objects to be art, but instead on the universality of the creative impulse among all creatures and abolishing the distinction between nature and culture.

Lolo’s World

Before we consider what an alternative avant-garde with a donkey for an idol might look like, we should better understand the context in which this prank was hatched. Jokes, after all, are as good an indication as any of the essence of a particular time and place.

The defeat of Napoleon III and the massacre at the Paris Commune in 1871 created a sense of malaise among the artistic and intellectual population of late 19th century Paris. This environment, particularly in Montmartre, proved fertile ground for experiments in art, theater, and poetry that dramatically reconsidered traditional, academic notions of beauty and artistic merit. In 1882 Jules Lévy began a series of exhibitions known as Arts Incohérents, featuring artwork by non-artists, use of unorthodox materials, and creative practitioners of all sorts operating outside their discipline. A series of dinners called Bon Bock became a platform for a new sense of French identity based on a combination of liberty and humor. This relishing of humor and rule breaking took on the name fumisme (1). Fumisme was a strategy of living, not just a style of humor. It was an approach to life that was politically incorrect, had no social agenda, and was meant to counteract the hypocrisy and pomposity of society.

AllaisThe Hydropathés, a regular meeting of artists and poets at a Montmartre cabaret, offered a democratic forum for art. A key figure in the group was Alphonse Allais, a poet, prankster and embodiment of fumisme who perpetrated a number of jokes that can now be read as precursors to conceptual art, including monochrome paintings and a score for a musical composition that consisted of complete silence. These lighthearted experiments were done in the 1880’s, decades before Kazimir Malevich and John Cage would repeat the gestures with a considerably more serious tone. The Hydropathés group went on to form the Salon des Indépendants, where Lolo would later make his artistic debut.

FreddyLolo belonged to Frédéric Gérard, the kindly and eccentric proprietor of Le Lapin Agile, a Montmartre cabaret frequented by artists and intellectuals. Le Lapin Agile was named Cabaret des Assassins until 1880, when André Gill painted a signboard for the establishment that featured an anthropomorphized rabbit jumping out of a pan while deftly balancing a bottle of wine on his paw. Regular customers then gave the cabaret the name Le Lapin Agile (The Agile Rabbit) as both a reference to the spritely creature, and wordplay on the artist’s name, lapin à Gill (French for “Gill’s rabbit”) (2).

lapin agileThe image was well loved among patrons, who adored it precisely because it was a low image. They liked that it couldn’t work in a formal academic setting. The countercultural attitude fomenting in Montmartre at the time made a point to elevate low culture like the signboard to masterpiece status as a way of registering disdain for the prevailing hierarchies of high culture (2). Gill’s signboard was painted at a time when there was heated debate about whether to give amnesty to the Communards (leftist revolutionaries of the Paris Commune) who had been deported to New Caledonia. There was a popular notion, depicted in contemporary cartoons, of native Caledonian cannibals waiting to eat exiled political prisoners. Depicting the rabbit in a pan, or “a la casserole” (in the pan, in the hot seat), along with a working class hat and a red bandana, was a subtle but pointed critique of the treatment of the Communards. A more overt statement would not have survived government censors. The image is cheery, but hides a threat to the prevailing hierarchy. It could be about revenge; perhaps this menacing little rabbit would cook you if the tables were turned (2).

It’s either a remarkable coincidence, or an example of a consistent brand of critical humor born at this particular cabaret, that Gill’s subversive and anthropomorphized sign hung at the very same spot where Lolo would paint Sunset Over the Adriatic years later. Comparing humans to animals and animals to humans is a fumiste tactic to make the point that no one should take themselves too seriously. SalisOthers used anthropomorphism as an absurdist gesture in Montmartre at the time. An 1882 illustration advertising the famous cabaret Le Chat Noir by proprietor Rodolphe Salis features an anthropomorphized cat and directly references Gill’s signboard in both the pose of the figure and the setting, with the Moulin de la Galette windmill in the upper left (1). Instead of a pan and a bottle of wine, the cat has a camera. There’s a line of anthropomorphized animals lined up in front of him, which includes, perhaps prophetically, a donkey. Le Chat Noir also prefigured the tactic of deliberate deception of the audience. Exaggeration, deception, and outright lies were all in the aesthetic toolbox of the fumistes. The journal produced by Le Chat Noir announced Salis’ death as a practical joke, duping earnest mourners into visiting the cabaret to pay their respects (1).

Tactics that employ playful and ethically questionable deception lay the groundwork for a divided notion of audience that runs from Salis, to Dorgelès and Lolo, to Duchamp, and on through to the present day. When an artwork doubles as a prank, or in-joke, who is the audience, exactly? Often, the audience can be divided into two groups. The first are the ones who are in on the joke, which could be specific to the artwork/prank at hand, or a more general sense of awareness of how notions of authorship and beauty have been upended. The second group is not in on the joke. They’re the earnest viewers looking for traditional notions of hard work and virtuosity they assume are the hallmarks of the true artist. For these traditionalists, an artist’s identity and accomplishments are supposed to form a clear line to the pleasurable experience of the viewer. What happened with Duchamp, and not Lolo or other art-pranks, was that the art world collectively decided to be in on the joke, and take its theoretical implications seriously. As we will see, things did not need to turn out this way, and the history that transpired led to a host of particular developments. This collective acceptance was not necessarily a mistake, but it was far from inevitable.

Meanwhile, the way art was being displayed was undergoing a series of upheavals. Formal academic salons still dominated in late 19th and early 20th centuries as places of commerce, patronage, and criticism. The values of aristocratic and bourgeois society were reflected in the beauty, harmony, and order of academic style paintings. In 1881 the state sanctioned salon was privatized and renamed Societé des Artistes francais. A small circle of artists judged the work, which was seen as the arbiter of French taste. As a reaction to the cloistered approach of the official salon, the Salon des Indépendants, a vehicle of the Societé des Artistes Indépendants, was created in 1884. Based on notions of freedom, independence, and individualism, there were no judges or juried awards, and the exhibition was theoretically open to anyone (3).

It was precisely this openness that Roland Dorgelès and his band of Lapin regulars intended to exploit. If the exhibition was open to anyone, why not a donkey? The prank also served as a pointed critique of Fauvism, which had just risen to prominence. Critic Louis Vauxcelles, upon seeing the Salon d’Automne in 1905, remarked, “Donatello au milieu des fauves!” (Donatello among the wild beasts!), referring to a Renaissance statue displayed among the radical new canvases. MatisseFauvism, as the movement came to be known, featured vibrant color and brushwork so bold it was compared to wild beasts. Matisse, considered the primary Fauvist, defined it as “the courage to return to the purity of means.” The Fauvists got rid of symbolist literary aesthetics, embraced bold color that no longer needed to describe reality, and chose subjects that elevated the chaotic beauty of nature (4).

It’s no accident that Lolo’s Sunset Over the Adriatic was created in the wake of Fauvism. Fauvism, more than any other movement of painting, is anthropomorphic. Artists were moving back toward nature, both in subject and approach. If Fauvism blurs the line between artists and wild beasts, Lolo pushes this idea to its extreme conclusion. Matisse’s talk of courage in finding a “purity of means” doesn’t seem very courageous compared to Dorgelès and Lolo’s gesture. If we want art to reconnect with natural processes, what could be more pure than eliminating the human artist altogether and letting the wild beast create?

Coming up in Part Two, Duchamp’s Game of Chance


1. Cate, Phillip Dennis and Mary Shaw. The Spirit of Montmartre: Cabarets, Humor, and the Avant-Garde, 1875-1905

2. Weisberg, Gabriel P. Montmartre and the Making of Mass Culture

3. Leighton, Patricia. The Liberation of Painting: Modernism and Anarchism in Avant-Guerre Paris

4. Arnason, H. H. and Marla F. Plather. History of Modern Art