Thierry de Duve on the Avant Garde and the Invention of Art

Parts 3 - 5 from 6 essays in successive issues of ArtForum, beginning in

Oct., 2013
From ArtForum, starting at http://artforum.com/inprint/issue=201401&id=44377 :
January 2014

IN THE THIRD in a series of new essays on the avant-garde for Artforum, historian and philosopher Thierry
de Duves exploration of Marcel Duchamps Fountain leads us to an unexpected place: the nineteenthcentury French Salon. The reception of Duchamps scandalous readymadedespite its initial rejection in
1917ultimately led to the watershed pronouncement that anything can be art. But de Duve argues that
the works rippling effect travels in all directions, and here he looks back to the surprising source of
Fountains true messagethat anyone can be an artist. The source, he proposes, was a group of upstarts
who, in 1880s Paris, claimed independence within that most established of European cultural institutions, the
Beaux-Arts academy.

Engraving of the Pavillon de la

Ville de Paris, site of the Salon
dHiver de la Socit des Artistes
Indpendants, December 1884
January 1885, avenue des
Champs-lyses, Paris.
Every year the jury of the Louvre provokes numerous complaints. . . .
Eminent artists who do not share the convictions of the jury have
been excluded from the galleries. There is a simple way to silence
those complaints: to admit all the submitted works indiscriminately.1
Gustave Planche, 1840
Everyone is an artist; all are trying to make money with their work.2
Alexandre de Cailleux, 1840
IN THE VEGETABLE GARDEN OF MEANINGS, some are carrot-like, others onion-like. The carrots shoot
straight, dig deep, have an iron core and a purposive shape; the onions are all involute surface, skin upon skin upon

skin round a vanishing center. The message Marcel Duchamp put in the mail in 1917 with Fountain is an onion; its
reception history is the history of its peeling. The first layer was not peeled off until the 1960s, when an ever-larger
public was informed that a simple (some would say vulgar) ready-made urinal was a work of art worthy of the
museum. With that, the news was officially released that anything could be art, and, whether in scorn or mirth,
immediately decoded as follows: Once anything can be art, anyone can be an artist. I call this the Duchamp
syllogism. In this manner a second layer of meaning was uncovered. But on the whole, the reception of Duchamps
message in the 60s was not true to the facts: It inferred the content of the second layer from the first, whereas it
should have done the reverse. The factual truth is that once anyone and everyone can be an artist, it logically follows
that anything and everything can be art.
There are at least three ways in which to understand that anyone can be an artist. For claritys sake, let me cast aside
the first two. When literary critic Marjorie Perloff, in conversation with poet Charles Bernstein, says, To be an
architect, you do have to learn very specific things. And a composer obviously has to know something about music.
But anyone, it seems, can be a poet, she derides both the delusion of self-proclaimed poets and the contempt some
people have for true poets whose skill they simply dont perceive.3 Pertinent as Perloffs remark is, my concern is
not with this first (mis)understanding. Nor is it with the Anyone can be an artist utopia typical of the moment
when Duchamps telegram was received. Joseph Beuys is exemplary in this regard. He was convinced that every
human being is endowed with creativityan inborn, universally distributed, and thus egalitarian faculty of bringing
forth new things, forms, or eventswhich, however, lies fallow in most people. The social task of professional
artists, Beuys thought, is to liberate this repressed creative potential until all human labor deserves to be called
artistic. Essential to his (and others) belief in creativity is that it is future-oriented: It has the performative structure
of a promise.
At the opposite end of the spectrum is the cynical way in which to understand that anyone can be an artist, and this
is the way that concerns me here: It underpins the moment when Duchamp sent his message; it is constative and
past-oriented; it takes stock of a given, of a situation that already exists.4 And given it was, in 1917, that in the
specific context of the New York Society of Independent Artists, where Fountain appeared and instantly
disappeared, anyone who could afford to part with six dollars could gain the status of professional artist. There is
nothing utopian in this, unless you want to call utopian the desire for democracy and the revolt against the National
Academy of Design that instigated the birth of the Society. While Duchamp definitely endorsed the revolt, he looked
ironically at utopia. Ever the true dandy, he knew that art and democracy didnt mingle well, and that to be avantgarde meant in fact to retrieve aristocratic values from the gutter so as to escape absorption into the middle class by
all means. He saw the democratic dream of the Societys founders as sketching the background against which the
uniquenessin Max Stirners senseof the artist and his art would shine. And although Duchamp did not uphold a
systematically catastrophic view of historysay, Walter Benjamins heap of debris at the feet of Angelus Novus; he
was too much on the victors side for thathe looked at the newborn Independents in terms of the institution whose
demise had made the Independents possible. Beneath Anyone can be an artist there is, I want to argue, a third
layer to the onion: The Beaux-Arts
system has collapsed.

Pietro Antonio Martinis etching of

the 1787 Salon, Muse du Louvre,

Paris.

WHETHER DUCHAMP, ALBERT GLEIZES, or someone else convinced the founders of the American Society
of Independent Artists to model their bylaws after those of the French Socit des Artistes Indpendants, Duchamp
knew the Frenchmen among the founders were offering their American colleagues a model both obsolete and
vitiated by the betrayal of its principles. He had experienced that betrayal firsthand when the French Indpendants
censored his Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2) at their 1912 Salon. The Cubists were then the latest avant-garde,
and their dogmatism flew in Duchamps face; I have no doubt he took the lesson. The extent to which he knew the
Indpendants history and prehistory is more difficult to gaugehe was not even born when the Socit was
foundedbut the matter may be irrelevant: The messenger is not the author of the message he is carrying; why
should he be fully cognizant of its content?
Let us go back, then, to the first Salon des Artistes Indpendants, held from May 15 to July 1, 1884. The motivation
behind it was no doubt exasperation with the severity of the jury of that years official Salon; the bulk of the
Indpendants were refuss (the term for artists whose work did not gain admittance into the Salon). The fact that
Georges Seurat was present at their first Salon and showed Bathers at Asnires, 1884, accounts for the event having
been recorded as if it were a manifesto for Neo-Impressionism. In reality this is what the second Salon des
Indpendants, held in 1886, would becomewhen Seurat showed the far more ambitious A Sunday on La Grande
Jatte1884, 188486. In 1884, the Indpendants were mostly a group of disgruntled, ostracized artists, most of
them mediocre. They resented being designated as refuss and insisted that several medaledand thus hors
concours (jury-exempted)artists had joined their ranks. Even before their Salon ended, its organizing committee
was accused of embezzlement by some participants, who summoned a general assembly on June 4 and, a week later,
registered a new competing Socit with Matre Coursault, a notary public in Montmorency. The initial group soon
lost the battle to the newly founded Socit, which is still active today.5
The first Salon des Indpendants drew mixed reviews from the press; the majority of the critics were convinced that
the official Salons jury would be vindicated and the righteousness of its verdicts exposed for all to seea
conviction echoing the critical response the famous 1863 Salon des Refuss elicited at the time. Several critics
questioned the name the Indpendants had given themselves. In LIllustration, a critic writing under the pseudonym
of Perdican wrote, I shall reproach these Indpendants for baptizing themselves Indpendants.6 To which Paul de
Katow added in Gil Blas the same day:
It is not difficult to find ones way through this heap of paintings and sculptures that calls itselfI dont know why
the Salon des Indpendants. Independent of whom, of what? Is it independent of the Salon jury, which would have
refused to admit two or three hundred ridiculous or hideous canvases or sculptures?7
The same formulaIndependent of whom, of what?reappeared in LIntransigeant, dated May 24, under the pen
of Edmond Jacques, who answered his rhetorical question by declaring his surprise at having seen no independence
at all at the Indpendantsno significant difference from the official Salon.8 But when the formula appeared again
in Gustave Geffroys comment on the Socits winter exhibition held six months later, it referred to another sort of
freedom:
And first of all, Independent of what? Was it worth taking up for a banner the name brandished by Degas, Miss
Cassatt, Raffalli, Pissarro, and their friends? Was it worth breaking with the artists who accept a venue from the
state only in order to exhibit the banal paintings on display these days in the pavilion lentfor lack of state
supportby the city of Paris?9
Geffroy pinpoints where the shoe pinches when he asks whether exchanging dependence on the state for dependence
on the city of Paris really makes a difference. Indeed, the Indpendants slavish allegiance to the city seems to
compensate for their bold declaration of autonomy from the state. They went so far as to adopt the citys colors for
their catalogue covers and the menu of their annual banquets in exchange for the venue on the Champs-Elyses,
where all but two of their Salons were held in the first decade of the Socits existence. Wittingly or not, Geffroy is

echoing an anarchists alleged protest at the April 16, 1884, meeting of the then still inchoate Indpendants: You
call yourselves Indpendants, and your first act of independence is to ask something from the state!10

Georges Seurat, Paysage, lle de la

Grande Jatte (Landscape, Island of
La Grande Jatte), 1884, oil on
canvas, 25 3/4 x 32". From the Salon
dHiver de la Socit des Artistes
Indpendants, December 1884
January 1885.

INDEPENDENCE OF STYLE was not at all the young Indpendants first claim. Independence from the Salon
jury was what mattered to the artists, individually and collectively. The motto Ni jury ni rcompense (No jury, no
prizes) was a rallying cry for a very large group of artists, only a handful of whom we remember today: Among the
402 artists who participated in that first 1884 Salon, only Charles Angrand, Henri-Edmond Cross, Albert DuboisPillet, Odilon Redon, mile Schuffenecker, Seurat, and Paul Signac left a significant trace in art-history books, all
except Redon as Neo-Impressionists. The 395 remaining artists were also present at the official Salon, could have
been there, or were understandably rejected by it. The struggle for liberation from the jury was anything but
congruent with the progress of modernism; to perpetuate that often-made conflation would be a huge mistake. It
would also distract us from further peeling the onion of Duchamps message. Here, in my view, is the question we
should ask next: Why is it that peeling off the layer stating Anyone can be an artist strips bare the layer stating
The Beaux-Arts system has collapsed?
One lazy modern habit is to assume that the natural condition of visual artists is that of freewheeling individuals,
with or without academic training, who are asked by art dealers to show their portfolios but not their diplomas. We
take it for granted that the practice of the visual arts, architecture being the notorious exception, is not protected in
the same way as the practices of law or medicine. So what, we might think, if in 1917 any New Yorker with six
dollars to spend could buy his or her membership card in the Society of Independent Artists? And so what if in 1884
any Parisian with ten francs could participate in the first Salon des Indpendants?11 Well, those apparently identical
situations are in fact very different from one another, and the transatlantic divide is crucial. The 1916 incorporation
of the Society of Independent Artists in New York did not even make a dent in the American art world, whose
evolution owed more to the ambition of a few audacious art collectors than to the collective action of artists. Only in
France did the legitimacy suddenly acquired by a bunch of self-proclaimed artists signal huge and dramatic
changeschanges that led to the collapse of the whole art institution.
When pressed to explain those changes, art historians often stress the Impressionists boycott of the Salon in the
decade before the birth of the Indpendants rather than that birth itself, and rightly so: The creation of the Socit
was more symbolic than instrumental. The advent of what Harrison and Cynthia White dubbed the dealer-critic
system12 was crucial: Without the support of their dealer, Paul Durand-Ruel, it is doubtful that the Impressionists
could have afforded to boycott the Salon. Now, lets avoid the simplistic view that the Salon withered because the

most advanced artists of the time had ceased to endorse it. The truth is, modernist painting was born from within
Salon painting much more than against or from outside it, as douard Manets career demonstrates. I think it highly
significant that while the Impressionists boycotted the Salon, Manet declined to participate in the Impressionists
exhibitions, even though the press repeatedly complimented him for (or accused him of) being the leader of the
movement. And I think it equally significant that the Impressionists hesitated greatly as to the name they would give
themselves before settling for Indpendants. For it is the Impressionists who first claimed that appellation. The
group, whose composition varied a lot over the years, was incorporated in 1873 as a socit anonyme cooprative. It
adopted the title Des Impressionnistes for its third exhibition, in 1877, for which Gustave Caillebotte had
unsuccessfully proposed Les Intransigeants.13 Unhappy with both titles, Edgar Degas imposed the name
Indpendants for the groups fourth exhibition, in 1879, much to the dismay of Auguste Renoir, who called this
name imbcile. It was nonetheless retained for the fifth edition, in 1880; abandoned for the sixth, in 1881;
resurrected by Durand-Ruel for the seventh, in 1882; and abandoned again, replaced by the neutral Exposition de
peintures, for the eighth and last, in 1886.14
Is it by chance that the name Indpendants emerged in 1879 a few months after the Left forced Marshal Mac-Mahon
to resign as president of the French Republic? Or, more than the change of regime per se, was the triggering factor
not the conflict that ensued within the Beaux-Arts administration? Just before being ousted, Mac-Mahon had
announced a two-tier Salon system, the project of which would still haunt the Ministry of Public Instruction and
Beaux-Arts of his successor, Jules Grvy. There was to be a relatively liberal annual exposition of artists with an
elected jury, and a tightly state-controlled triennial exposition of art that was supposed to show only the crme de
la crme.15 The latter would certainly exclude the Impressionists, the former probably not. Boycotting the Salon was
thus no longer an issue for them, whereas loudly proclaiming their independence from the state was an increasingly
pressing one. For the Impressionists as well as for the Indpendants of 1884, the true noveltywhose radicality the
artists only half-realized even though, as we shall now see, they had acquired it three years earlierwas
independence from the state. The progress of the dealer-critic system made that independence materially possible. It
also accelerated the demise of the Salon system.

Studio of Flix Nadar, site of the 1874

Premire Exposition de la Socit
Anonyme Cooprative des Artistes (The

First Impressionist Exhibition), 35, boulevard des Capucines, ca. 1861, Paris.
THE YEAR 1880 saw the last state-sponsored Salon, and it was a disaster. A conflict developed between Edmond
Turquet, undersecretary of state for the Beaux-Arts and director of the Salon, and the painting juryfirst over
Turquets 1879 decision to install electric light in the Salons premises, then over his reform of the jurys election,
and finally over his system of classification. William Bouguereau and Paul Baudry successively resigned from their
positions as presidents of the painting jury and, as a result, 7,289 works were acceptedthe largest number ever
among them 3,957 paintings by 2,775 painters.16 Turquet retaliated by hanging the worst works in the best places in
order to humiliate the jury. All the artists were furious, the press had a field day, the public snubbed the Salon, and
the Beaux-Arts Ministry had to absorb a deficit of 46,559 francs (over $150,000 today).17 Joris-Karl Huysmans
commented:
The 1880 Salon is a bedlam, a muddle, a hodgepodge made worse by the incomparable blunders of the new
classification. On the pretext of democracy, one has stunned the poor and the unknown. Such is the novelty M.
Turquet agreed to. But let that be; the painters dont deserve our support. They constantly beg for the help and the
control of the state whereas they should send it packing, refuse these childish rewards and medals, and try to walk
on their own legs at last.18
It was as if the minister of public instruction and Beaux-Arts, Jules Ferry, had heard Huysmans: Playing Pontius
Pilate, he left it to Turquet to announce the withdrawal of the states support for the Salon. On January 17, 1881,
addressing the artists, Turquet said:
You must now entirely take charge of the free, material, and artistic management of the annual exhibitions, in
replacement of the administration. The state will no longer intervene in your business. . . . Experience has
sufficiently demonstrated that there is no possible compromise between complete management by the state and free
management by the artists.19
Turquets speech was reproduced in the catalogue of the next Salon, now fully separate from the state and held in
May 1881. The same catalogue contains the statutes of a newly incorporated private society, dubbed Socit des
Artistes Franais, drafted on January 28 and approved by Ferry on February 5. From that date on, and despite the
states pathetic efforts to recuperate its lost power,20 the artists were on their own: They were at last officially
independent. In light of this, the creation of the Socit des Artistes Indpendants three years later loses a bit of its
heroism and revolutionary aura, and the constative and past-oriented sense of Duchamps telegram becomes clearer.
I think we should not make too much of the independence the French artists of the 1880s claimed. While the
Impressionists proudly called themselves Indpendants, they were dependent on Durand-Ruel for their bread and
butter. Independence for its own artistic sake, i.e., in the name of sincerity and originality, had already been a claim
of the Romantics; it was a staple of art teaching since the 1863 reform of the cole des Beaux-Arts. It may be
another red herring, a sober, less flamboyant variant of the All is art and the Everyone is an artist utopias. What
I think deserves attention is the uniqueness of the late-nineteenth-century French artists independence as
independence from the state. The binary choice between state and artist management in Turquets announcement is
striking. In his Salon of 1876, mile Zola had anticipated precisely this binarism:
My humble opinion is this: In matters of government, there are only two possible ways: the most absolute despotism
or the most complete liberty. What I mean by the most absolute despotism is the autocratic reign of the Acadmie
des Beaux-Arts. It was a mistake to take power out of its hands in order to entrust it to an elected jury whose
judgments inevitably vary from year to year. . . . So, if it wants to escape its present embarrassment, the Beaux-Arts
administration, in my opinion, has the following choice: either revert to the academic jury system, or institute free
exhibitions.21
We know the result of this either/or: Free exhibitions were eventually instituted, and modernism won the battle
against academicism. That story has been told often enough, and I will not repeat it here. Nor am I offering an
explanation, new or old, of why modernism triumphed; no explanation is needed other than its aesthetic superiority.
I merely seek to understand why modernism was born in France; and I pursue this because following the trail of

Duchamps message has led me to pursue it. I think part of the answer lies in this incredibly clear-cut either/or
arrived at under very different circumstances by both a progressive critic (Zola) and a conservative administrator of
the Beaux-Arts system (Turquet). I cant think of any European country besides France where the fate of the visual
artswhether in the 1880s or at any time since the creation of the Acadmie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture in
1648hinged on such a peculiarly stark absence of any room for compromise. Certainly the British Royal Academy
was able to negotiate with its artists, granting them their freedom by keeping itself at arms length from state control.
Germany was still involved in court art after Bismarck. Italy before Garibaldi and Cavour had no inkling of what a
centralized state might be. Even earlier in France, say, during the July Monarchy, juste milieu painters could thrive
on the illusion that state monopoly and bourgeois individualism had found an aesthetic modus vivendi. By 1880, this
was no longer the case. The French nineteenth-century Beaux-Arts system had either to die or be restored in the
glory of its absolute despotism, as Zola wrote. If only symbolically, the advent of the French Indpendants tolled
the death knell of a very powerful and unique art institution in which, at any stage of their career, artists needed to
receive the states stamp of approval. It was anything but anodyne for that institution to let the profession of painter
or sculptor be opened to the hoi polloi, as happened in 1884 with the Indpendants. Duchamps telegram now reads
as nothing less than this French systems obituary.

Georges Seurat, A Sunday on La

Grande Jatte1884, 188486, oil on
canvas, 6' 9 3/4 x 10' 1 1/4. From
the Salon de la Socit des Artistes
Indpendants, AugustSeptember
1886.

WHY WAS MODERNISM BORN IN FRANCE? Here is a working hypothesis. When we speak of the Salon
system, we use a metonym for a mighty ideological state apparatusto use Louis Althussers phrasewhose
concentration of power had no equivalent outside France. Just one example: The man behind Mac-Mahons twotiered Salon system was Eugne Guillaume, a powerful civil servant in the Ministry of Public Instruction and
Beaux-Arts who served both before and after Mac-Mahons resignation. His full title was directeur gnral des
Beaux-Arts, prsident du Conseil des Beaux-Arts, and directeur de lcole des Beaux-Arts. Of course, he was also a
member of the Acadmie des Beaux-Arts. At that historical moment, such concentration of power around the
Beaux-Arts banner may have betrayed the anxiety of the fine-arts administration clinging to the deck of a sinking
ship. But throughout the century that banner had been proudly flown on a tightly knit network of institutions with a
strong pyramidal structure, tremendous prestige in the worlds of art and politics, and a high level of inbreeding. In
the words of art historian Paul Smith:
The cole was governed by the Acadmie des Beaux-Arts, itself governed by the Institut de France. The professors
at the cole were chosen from among the members of the Acadmie, and the same body also dominated the jury
which awarded prizes at the annual Salon, or state-sponsored exhibition, where an artist could hope to gain critical
recognition or official patronage.22
The Salon jury was the dead bolt of the whole system. It was by way of the jury that, throughout the nineteenth
century, the state exerted its monopoly over artists access to their profession and controlled their careers until late in
life. As usual, what mattered to the state apparatus was the perpetuation of its own powerMen are replaced, but

the bureaucracy remains, the critic Albert Wolff wrote in 188523even though it systematically gave the pretext of
quality control on the artists output in order to justify itself. Thanks to the jury, the system could afford much more
aesthetic flexibilityverging on opportunism if not sometimes on incoherencethan is generally assumed. It was
never a monolithic institution; academic and official were rarely simply synonymous. The states cultural policy
varied with every change of regime and even with the personality of the monarch or the president.24 Nor did the
system go uncontested: Not one Salon went by without prompting protests from the artists and proposals to reform
the jury rules from one or another faction of the administration.
But what I think matters more than anything else is that the state exerted its monopoly over the art world exclusively
through the Salon jury and, conversely, that the Salon jury was the exclusive instrument of the states control for
controls sake. It is too often believed that orienting the artists apprenticeship in the desired direction or imposing
an official style were the goals of the state apparatus.25 Attempts at imposing an official style were never very
successful. Direction of the artists schooling was more efficient, but then mainly because it created networks and
allowed nepotism to thrive.26 The system was such that, whatever the style in vogue, the state and only the state was
empowered to decide who was and who was not legitimately an artist, and this decision was made via the Salon
jury. Acceptance into or rejection from the Salon was the relevant lock that opened or closed all other opportunities:
procured the artist national, municipal, ecclesiastical, and private commissions; earned him critical attention in the
press; ensured the sheer visibility of his work with the public; attracted dealers and collectors; and allowed him
unjuried entry into the next Salon if medaled. Such an aggregation of arbitrary decisional power in a single
cogwheel of the Beaux-Arts machinery, and over such a length of time (the first jury was instituted in 1748), has had
no match anywhere in Europe or elsewhere.
But striking as this unique feature of the French Beaux-Arts system is, it might not have exerted pressure toward the
birth of modernism as forcibly as it did had it not entered into violent tension with another unique feature of this
system: the free- for-all access of the public to the Salon. Unlike the exhibitions of the British Royal Academy,
which charged the public an entrance fee, the French Salon was free until 1855, when it was part of the Exposition
Universelle. That year turnstiles were installed, which counted 891,682 paying visitors.27 (Incidentally, this is some
30,000 more than attended Documenta 13 in 2012a remarkable indication of the Salons appeal as mass
entertainment.) The numbers for the next Salon, two years later, are very interesting because Sundays were free: The
265,180 visitors the Salon attracted on that single day overwhelmingly outnumbered the 182,586 paying visitors
from the rest of the week, proof that the Salon attracted a low-income crowd far beyond what we might think was
the constituency for high art.28 I have seen bourgeois folks, workers, and even peasants, Zola wrote in his Salon
of 1875.29

[Continued on next page]

Caricature of visitors to the 1880 Salon, Paris.

Anyone could visit the Salon, and did. But not everyone could exhibit at the Salonfar from it. It is this tension
between the absolute despotism ruling over the artists fate and the complete liberty of access granted the public
that I believe explains why modernism was born in France. Modernism was forced into existence by this tension; it
offered itself as the only survival strategy for high art that adequately addressed its true conditions on the levels of
both form and content. First Gustave Courbet and then Manet were its great experimenters, for both were
fundamentallyif paradoxicallySalon painters. Such is the hypothesis that peeling the onion of Duchamps
message has led me to entertain. If I am right, then the conditions of visibility within the Salon were not just a foil
against which Courbet and Manet reacted. How they took those conditions into account, dealt with them, answered
them, countered them, must be part and parcel of what defines modernism in painting. But thats another story.30
Duchamps message is mute when it comes to the definition of modernism in painting. It seems so future-oriented
announcing the coming of an art world where anything can be artthat it makes us forget how keyed to the past it
actually was. From the retrospective view Duchamp enjoyed in 1917, looking onto the demise of the Beaux-Arts
system, the message he put in the mail had nothing to say about the fate of painting after the 1880s. His brand of
Cubismnot Pablo Picassos, not Cubism at largewas a dead end, and he knew it. And so Duchamp abandoned
painting and switched to ready- mades. These in turn induced two or three generations of artists and critics, from the

1960s on, to believe that he had declared painting obsolete, whereas in truth he had embodied his melancholic
longing for the painters art in symbolically charged readymades such as Peigne (Comb), 1916, or in cryptic
references to potential Seurat paintings.31 His cynicism, his dandyism, pushed him to side with those capable of
seeing the emperors new clothes, and too bad if they were conservative critics such as Edmond About, who,
speaking of the demise of the Salon system, wrote in 1883:
For twenty years, a revolution has been going on relentlessly, day by day, in this very special and interesting world.
The high administrators who controlled it wanted to be popular; little by little they introduced democratic customs
into what is and should always be an aristocracy. They sacrificed the elite to the numerous; they enthroned the
universal suffrage of artists as if artists constituted a guild, as if the first comers, without having attended the cole
des beaux-arts and having no credentials other than faith and hope, had the right to call themselves artists.32
Duchamp would have grinned reading About. He nonetheless drew consequences for artnot so much from the
demise of the jury system as from that system itselfthat About would never have anticipated. They were
diabolical. He was not responsible; he was, after all, merely the messenger.
Next month: Part IV: The Invention of Non-Art (I): History
Thierry de Duve is currently teaching at the School of Visual Arts in New York. In fall 2013, he was Kirk Varnedoe
visiting professor at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University.
Visit Artforums archive at Artforum.com for the first two essays in de Duves ongoing series: Pardon my French
(October 2013) and Dont Shoot the
Messenger (November 2013).

Eyre Crowe, Delivery Entrance of

Palais des Beaux Arts at the
Exposition Universelle of 1855, 1855,
pen, ink wash, and graphite on paper,
8 3/4 x 12 5/8".

NOTES
(Unless otherwise indicated, all quotations in French are the authors translation)
1. Quoted in Grard-Georges Lemaire, Esquisses en vue dune histoire du Salon (Paris: Henri Veyrier, 1986), 33.
Planche was a literary and art critic for the Revue des deux mondes.

10

2. Quoted in W. Hauptman, Juries, Protests, and Counter-exhibitions Before 1850, Art Bulletin 67, no. 1 (March
1985): 100. Alexandre de Cailleux was director of the Muses Royaux from 1841 to 1847 (and associate director
from 1831 to 1841) and, as such, responsible for the organization of the Salon.
3. Marjorie Perloff, Poetics in a New Key: Interviews and Essays, ed. David Jonathan Y. Bayot (Manila, Philippines:
De La Salle University Publishing House, 2013), 77.
4. I draw on the performative/constative distinction established by J. L. Austin in How to Do Things with Words
(Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press, 1962).
5. See Pierre Angrand, Naissance des artistes indpendants 1884 (Paris: Nouvelles Editions Debresse, 1965), 28
31.
6. Quoted in Dominique Lobstein, Dictionnaire des Indpendants 18841914 (Dijon, France: ditions Lchelle de
Jacob, 2003), 20.
7. Quoted in Angrand, Naissance des artistes, 3839.
8. Ibid., 44.
9. La Justice, December 17, 1884, quoted in Angrand, Naissance des artistes, 8788. The exposition dhiver,
which was held as a fund-raiser to help the victims of a recent cholera epidemic, was the first to have been organized
by the Socit des Artistes Indpendants proper. Its official historiographer (and president from 1977 to 2001), Jean
Monneret, keen on diminishing the importance of the spring exhibition because it could be claimed by the Groupe as
well as by the Socit, counts the winter exhibition as the first Salon des Indpendants, which it is not.
10. Quoted in Angrand, Naissance des artistes, 30; Angrand reconstitutes the meeting and introduces the anarchists
exclamation thus: A young painter, the meetings secretary, declares: The matter is to request either from the
municipality or from the government itself a vast venue for the works that cannot be accommodated at the Palais de
lIndustrie, for lack of place. Already someone adds: This will force the government to prove its good or bad
will, 29.
11. In principle, all the members works will be admitted. The members are due to hand the treasurer the sum of ten
francs by way of contribution, for which they shall obtain a receipt. Rglement, De ladmission, Catalogue
officiel et complet des ouvrages de peinture, sculpture, dessins et gravures exposs aux Tuileries, autoris par le
Ministre des Beaux-Arts et la Ville de Paris (Paris: H. Delattre, 1884), 3. When the Socit des Artistes
Indpendants was founded in June, it set the price of membership at three francs every three months.
12. Harrison C. White and Cynthia A. White, Canvases and Careers: Institutional Change in the French Painting
World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965/1993).
13. For a discussion of the political implications of the name Intransigeants, see Stephen F. Eisenman, The
Intransigent Artist or How the Impressionists Got Their Name, in Charles S. Moffett, ed., The New Painting:
Impressionism 18741886 (Geneva: Richard Burton Publishers, 1986), 5159.
14. For the chronology of the Impressionist exhibitions, see Joel Isaacson et al., The Crisis of Impressionism 1878
1882 (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Museum of Art, 1980).
15. See Patricia Mainardi, The End of the Salon: Art and the State in the Early Third Republic (Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press, 1993), 54 and 168 n. 61.
16. Explication des ouvrages de peinture, sculpture, architecture, gravure et lithographie des artistes vivants
exposs au Palais des Champs-lyses le 1er mai 1880 (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1880.)

11

17. On the 1880 Salon and its particular circumstances, see mile Zola, Le naturalisme au Salon, in crits sur
lart (Paris: Gallimard, 1991), 40916; Mainardi, End of the Salon, 7289; Andre Sfeir-Semler, Die Maler am
Pariser Salon 17911880 (Frankfurt/Main: Campus Verlag, 1992), 16781.
18. Joris-Karl Huysmans, Le Salon officiel en 1880, in Lemaire, Histoire du Salon, 249.
19. Explication des ouvrages de peinture, sculpture, architecture, gravure et lithographie des artistes vivants
exposs au Palais des Champs-lyses le 2 mai 1881, (Paris: Charles de Mourgues, Frres, Imprimeurs des Muses
Nationaux, 1881), lxxxiv and lxxxvi.
20. In spite of its name, the triennale, led on behalf of the state by Ernest Meissonier, had only one edition, in 1883.
Meissonier was also very active in the creation, in 1890, of the Socit Nationale des Beaux-Arts, the last and
narrowly nationalistic attempt at state control over the exhibitions.
21. Zola, Salon de 1876, in crits sur lart, 32122. Mainardi (The End of the Salon, 82) mentions two similar
comments, an earlier one dated 1868, and a later one dated 1880. See Zola, 244 and 415.
22. Paul Smith, Impressionism Beneath the Surface (New York: Abrams, 1995), 910.
23. Albert Wolff, Courrier de Paris, Le Figaro, May 9, 1885, quoted in Mainardi, End of the Salon, 124.
24. It was usually in accordance with the Acadmies aesthetic principles during Louis-Philippes reign and
divergent from them under the Third Republic. On the fluctuations of the states cultural policy and how they
influenced the composition of the jury, see Sfeir-Semler, Die Maler am Pariser Salon, 11549.
25. According to Sfeir-Semler (Die Maler Pariser Salon, 28596; see 293 in particular), students of academicians
did not fare better with the jury than did students of nonacademicians, and those who had studied with avant-garde
painters were not discriminated against: 59 percent of the artists included in the famous 1863 Salon des Refuss (and
thus excluded from the official Salon) had been students of an academician, versus 4 percent who had studied with a
Romantic and 2 percent with a realist master. However, those numbers dont mean much unless they are checked
against the proportion of Romantics and realists among the refused artists masters in general. Although I find SfeirSemlers thoroughly empirical, statistical study of the Salon extremely useful, I think she is sometimes carried away
by her desire to rehabilitate Salon painting and to debunk the myth of 1863, Naissance de la peinture moderne (to
quote the title of Gatan Picons well-known book).
26. At the disastrous 1880 Salon, 140 artists had studied with Alexandre Cabanel, 135 with Jean-Lon Grme, 117
with Lon Cogniet, and 111 with Lon Bonnat, to mention only the stars of the educational system. Two years later,
Cabanel could boast of having placed 176 students and Grme 117, whereas Bonnat, with 115 pupils, had
bypassed Cogniet, with 91 pupils. (My statistics, culled from the catalogue of both Salons.) If anything, this shows
that freeing the artists from the state-managed Salon did not upset in any way the privileges the artists who had
studied with the right master enjoyed.
27. Sfeir-Semler, Die Maler am Pariser Salon 1791188, 50.
28. Ibid., 51.
29. Jai vu des bourgeois, des ouvriers, et mme des paysans. Zola, Salon de 1875, in Ecrits sur lart, 281.
30. Now might be the time to announce that the present series of Artforum articles is the first part of a trilogy of
sorts, the second part of which will be centered on Manet and the third on Marcel Broodthaers.
31. The possible is an infra thin. The possibility of several tubes of paint becoming a Seurat is the concrete
explanation of the possible as infra thin. Marcel Duchamp, Notes, presented by Paul Matisse (Paris: Centre Georges

12

Pompidou, 1980), note 1, unpaginated. See my The Readymade and the Tube of Paint in Artforum, May 1986,
11021.
32. Edmond About, Le deuxime Salon triennal, quoted in Mainardi, End of the Salon, 126.

February 2014

In the fourth in a series of new essays on the avant-garde for Artforum, historian and philosopher Thierry de
Duve continues his groundbreaking excavation of the meaning of Marcel Duchamps 1917 Fountain. Here, de
Duve argues that to locate the source of the readymades legendary insurrection against the category of art,
we must look to an even earlier schism: the 1863 exhibition of art rejected from the hallowed French BeauxArts institution of the Salon. For it is at the so-called Salon des Refussand in the debates that erupted
around the work of its most famous participant, douard Manetthat we find the public emergence of nonart in words and in images alike. The sea change is one we do not yet fully understand, but that ushered in
the aesthetic conditions under which we are still living today.

douard Manet, Le Djeuner sur

lherbe (Luncheon on the Grass),
1863, oil on canvas, 81 7/8 x 104
1/8".

After all, according to what criterion should artistic production be judged, if not by its dialectical capacities of
critical negativity and utopian anticipation?1

13

Benjamin H. D. Buchloh
I DONT KNOW WHO COINED THE EXPRESSION NON-ART. But I remember that non-art and its
supposed twin, anti-art, were very much in fashion in the art criticism of the 1960s. The terms were used to refer
to Dada and early Pop art, then seen as Neo-Dada. However, by the mid-70s, critics had realized that Pop art
owed very little to the nihilistic thrust of the Dadaists. To imagine Robert Rauschenberg shouting with Hugo Ball at
the Cabaret Voltaire in Zurich had become counterintuitive; attention had shifted from Dada to the Neo in NeoDada, from the revolution to its recuperation. Consequently, non-art and anti-art fell out of fashion. It was clear
to everyone in the art world that the aggressiveness of anti-art had been tamed, that the negativity of non-art had
been in turn negated, sublated, or otherwise mutated into positivity.
Not everyone greeted the erasure of non-arts negativity with indifference or resignation. The epigraph aboveby
one of the best among those art critics I once called the last partisans of the avant-garde2is exemplary of a school
of thought for which negation is an instrument of resistance against the fetishization of artworks promoted by the
capitalist socioeconomic order. Benjamin H. D. Buchlohs quest for the right criterion according to which to judge
artistic production is, in fact, the remote yet direct descendant of Stendhals famous line, Beauty is but the promise
of happinessrephrased in the post-Adornian lingo that stresses the sobering, skeptical but of Stendhals phrase
to imply critical negativity. Meanwhile, Buchlohs invocation of dialectical capacities rekindles Adornos
paradoxical reading of Stendhal: Art must break its promise in order to stay true to it.3 The 2012 essay from which
I took this epigraph, Farewell to an Identity, is a strong, salutary, and coherent, if rather despairing protest against
the appalling spectacularization fashionable art has reached in todays world. I cannot recommend its reading
enough. But it is 100 percent persuasive only to those readers who share Buchlohs post-Adornian convictions.
Unfortunately, I dont count myself in that group.4
One way of expressing my doubts without venturing onto philosophical terrain is to state my incomprehension of
Buchlohs take on Marcel Duchamp. In the past, he has repeatedly praised Duchamp for critically updating art
production for the industrial age and for undermining bourgeois authorship. In Farewell to an Identity, these
achievements are subsumed under the principle of a total de-skilling, as embodied in Duchamps work.5 I can see
how de-skilling can be invoked to convey an avant-gardist attack against craftsmanship and authorial agency; I dont
see how it applies to Duchamps work as a whole. The readymades can indeed be seen as de-skilled in a trivial
sense, but then only if they are cut off from the rest of Duchamps oeuvreIm thinking especially of the artists
Large Glass, 191523, and of the eight years of meticulous, highly skilled manual labor it took the artist to fabricate
it. It seems a little off the mark to hail Duchamp for his presumed de-skilling and subversion of bourgeois
authorship. Id say his assumption of authorship was bourgeois with a vengeancedandyish and thus falsely
aristocratic, that is.

Paul Delaroche, Hmicycle (detail),

184142, fresco, 12' 9 x 81' 11 7/8.

14

I have already quoted Robert Smithsons poor opinion of Duchamp.6 Here is Carl Andres: Duchamp I cannot take.
I think the archness and the utter gentility of refinement of it all, its just for giggling ladies on the Upper East Side
or something; its salon art.7 It may be cruel on Andres part to send Duchamp to have tea on the Upper East Side.
But it sounds less far-fetched than to portray him as a fellow traveler of the Soviet Productivists, as Buchloh and
others have occasionally done. Actually, in a less disparaging sense than Andres, salon artist is, historically
speaking, the epithet Duchamp most deserves. In some deep and very unexpected way, he belongs in the nineteenthcentury French Salon.
As I have previously argued, when the message Duchamp put in the mail in 1917 with Fountain arrived in the 60s,
it revealed, like an onion, multiple layers of meaning. A first layerwhen a urinal is art, anything can be artwas
soon misread as implying a second layer: that anyone could be an artist. Once that misreading is dispelled and the
chronology of the facts is reestablished, the implication gets reversed: Given that in 1917, anyone could be a
member of the New York Society of Independent Artists, and given that the Society was modeled after the Paris
Socit des Artistes Indpendants, founded in 1884, it follows that anything could be art as early as 1884. What this
really amounts to is a third layer: the announcement that, by 1884, the French Beaux-Arts system had collapsed. One
unique characteristic of that system was the monopoly the Beaux-Arts state apparatus had over the careers of artists,
and the fact, essential to the fourth layer of Duchamps message, that it exerted its monopoly exclusively through the
institution of the Salon jury: Year after year, Salon after Salon, all artists with professional ambitions had to pass
under the yoke of the jury until (or unless) they were medaled and henceforth exempted. It is tempting to jump to the
conclusion that Duchamps message contains a critiqueBuchloh would say a dialectical negationof the Salon
jury system. Negations are at issue, certainly. But why would Duchamp criticize and negate an institution that had
died in the 1880s, before his birth? In fact, he sought to revive that institution when he sent Fountain to the
Independents show: He forced the hanging committee to act as a jury and to make him the sole victim of a salon
des refuss.8 Negation was on the side of the committee, not of the artist. As we shall now see, the fourth layer of
Duchamps message doesnt negate anything. Rather, it sends us to investigate the circumstances under which
negation made its historical appearance in the judgment of art as art. Those circumstances should not be confused
with the momentwhenever that waswhen the expression non-art was coined. Duchamps message dispatches
us to the time and place in which the pragmatic, discursive reality of non-art was established. It is not New York in
1917, it is not Zurich in 1916, it is Paris some fifty-three years before.
THE TITLE OF THIS ESSAY, The Invention of Non-Art, is in some ways a misnomer, since non-art was more
discovered than invented; it was no ones intention to bring non-art into the world. True, the Dadaists at the Cabaret
Voltaire intentionally fought the establishment and may thus perhaps be said to have invented anti-art. But they
could do so because anti-arts supposed twin, non-art, had established the prerequisite for anti-art long before. As for
Duchamp, he has been called an artist, an anti-artist, and an anartist, little matter; he was the messenger of non-art.
He did not invent it any more than the other Dadaists. He noticed its existence more clearly, and he brought us the
news.
Non-art came into being inadvertently, in five successive stages and at the confluence of four factors. We will visit
the five stages as we go along, each one made visible by a particular event. The four factors are: (1) the existence of
the Beaux-Arts system and the classification of the arts within it; (2) the all or nothing paradigm resulting from the
binary character of the jurys verdict at the Salon; (3) the convergence of aesthetic expectations in the notion of the
tableau; and (4) the psychology of the jury.
The appellation Beaux-Arts refers to arts in the plural and calls them beautiful, something that gets lost in the
English fine arts. Of course, this doesnt mean that all works produced in this system were beautiful but, rather,
that the Beaux-Arts strove for beauty as opposed to utility or pleasantness. As for the plurality of the arts, since the
relevant context was the nineteenth-century French Salon, how were the visual arts divided there? What was their
hierarchy? How did their division and hierarchy evolve over time? What we can gather from a brief inquiry into the
titles of the Salon catalogues is a remarkably stable division of visual practices, with a clear hierarchy that puts
painting on top, followed by sculpture.9 Within painting, moreover, the supremacy of history painting remained in
force until well into the second third of the nineteenth century, even as its dominance was eroded by the growing
popularity of genre and landscape painting and the advent of a watered-down version of history painting, the genre
historique.

15

Perhaps the most significant self-portrait of the Beaux-Arts system was provided by one of the first and best
proponents of the genre historique, Paul Delaroche, when he was commissioned to allegorize the system as a whole
by decorating the hemicycle of the cole des Beaux-Arts. He aligned a string of (all male!) painters, sculptors, and
architects from antiquity to the seventeenth century (and not beyond!) on either side of a central group comprising
three seated ancientsthe architect Ictinus, the painter Apelles, and the sculptor Phidiasflanked by an allegory of
Gothic art on the left and an allegory of the Renaissance on the right, while on the proscenium the gnie des arts (in
the plural) get ready to hand out wreaths of laurels to deserving students.10 The ideological message is clear: The
Beaux-Arts system has been in place since antiquity; the history of art is a genealogy of great, exemplary men; there
are three seats for artists to occupy, and occupy a seat they must. All artists are draftsmen; the printmakers are either
painters or subordinate to painters; hybrids such as bas-relief do exist, but its straddling of painting and sculpture has
been codified since Donatello. In the Beaux-Arts system (in France and elsewhere), a plurality of well-separated art
practices with nothing in between is the rule. For something to be art, it must either be a painting or a sculpture, and
so on, orto extend the categories beyond the visual artsa poem, a piece of music, a play, etc.11 The implication
is that if a given object were to fall in the no-mans-land between the acknowledged art practices, we would be hardpressed to call it art at all.

Max Berthelins 1854

crosssection rendering of the
Palais de lIndustrie, Paris, site
of the Salon des Refuss, 1863.

The second factor in the birth of non-art is the binary character of the jurys verdict at the Salon, and the way in
which it set an all or nothing paradigm for aesthetic judgment. Aesthetic experience involves judging along a
continuous gradation of quality, and there is no reason to think that the Salon jury experienced art any differently.12
Although the composition of the jury varies throughout the nineteenth centurythe jurors were sometimes state
appointees, sometimes elected by the artists, and sometimes chosen from both groupsthe majority were most often
artists. To give just one example, the 1868 jury comprised eighteen men: five members of the Institut de France; one
professor at the cole des Beaux-Arts; three future academicians; three outsiders with respect to the academy; and
six state appointees who were not artists.13 Not only did the artists dominate, but in this particular jury all were
paintersa striking indicator of the hierarchy still prevalent under the Second Empire. All were highly skilled
professionals trained in the appreciation of works of art, capable of making subtle judgments, and whose personal
preferences covered a wide range of schools and tastes. But no matter how generously we imagine the jurys
goodwill and fairness, in practice its deliberations had to be expedited in record time, leaving little room for nuanced
discussion.14 Moreover, the jurys hand was forced. It saw a brutal either/or superimposed on even the most finetuned evaluation of so many shades of quality. Either a work was admitted into the Salon or it was rejected, there
was no middle ground. If it was admitted, the jury could avail itself of a whole system of first-, second-, and thirdclass medals to express the warmth of its admiration, but first it must be admitted. One work might be admitted
while another by the same artist might be rejected. Repeated rejection over the years could make an artists career
extremely difficult. Not before the Impressionists did artists boycott the Salon and rely on their dealers to promote
their work. Only with the collapse of the Beaux-Arts system in the 1880s did visibility at the Salon cease to be the
sine qua non condition ofand success at the Salon the mandatory path towarda profitable livelihood as a
professional artist. It is thus not an exaggeration to say that, funneled through the decisive verdict of the Salon jury,
careers were made and unmade at the Salon.
The nineteenth century is punctuated with protestsnot so much against the jurys conservatism, as the triumphalist
histories of modern art routinely assume, as against its severity and arbitrariness. After the jury of the 1827 Salon

16

eliminated 1,635 works out of 3,469, tienne-Jean Delcluze, Jacques-Louis Davids pupil and biographer, who
usually sided with the administration, was so outraged that he proposed an exhibition particulire at the Galerie
Lebrun, which the press hailed as a salon dopposition.15 (The expression salon des refuss had not been coined
yet.) In 1840, the ratio of rejected works climbed to an unprecedented 54 percent.16 tienne Huard, a liberal critic for
the Journal des Artistes, appealed to the public to protest against such unspeakable acts of censorship and urged the
artists to show the rejected works in the Galeries Artistiques on boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle.17 In the end, the show
was a flop: Many artists chickened out for fear of retaliation or out of shame over their rejection from the Salon.
By contrast, the rejected artists of 1863the year of the Salon des Refuss properwere shielded from fear and
shame because this time the exhibition of the refused works was held under the auspices of His Majesty the
Emperor. Having heard of the artists protests, Napoleon III ignored the jury and used his supreme authority to grant
the rejected artists an exhibition space next to the official Salon. No doubt he did this out of demagogy and not
because he disagreed with the jurys taste, but the result was the same. It is a mistake, then, to read the Salon des
Refuss as an alternative exhibition and as the glorious revenge of the avant-garde against academicism: The
public flocked to the Refuss mainly to laugh at the rejected works, and in many instances the crowd was right. As
the critic Jules-Antoine Castagnary wrote in LArtiste, Before the exhibition of the Refused, we were unable to
figure out what a bad painting was. Now we know it.18
Thats the point. Thats why I consider the Salon des Refuss the first stage in the invention of non-art. Not that I
share Castagnarys wholesale rejection of the rejected: I mean that the public of 1863 had, for the first and almost
only time, simultaneous access to good art and bad art in separate boxes. At the official Salon they could see art
the jury judged good enough, and at the Salon annexe art not good enough to be shown. Together with the art in
these categories, the categories themselves were suddenly made plain. Both the public and the artists could
experience in person the binary structure of the one aesthetic judgment that counted: The artists were finally shown
what not to do if they wanted to please the jury; and the spectators were confronted with the arbitrariness of a new
all or nothing paradigm of aesthetic judgment.

Charles Amde de Nos cartoon published in

Cham au Salon de 1863: Deuxime promenade
(Martinet Paris, 1863). Caption reads: My son,
remove your cap! Pay your respects to the failed
attempt.

Among the works rejected by the 1863 Salon and shown at the Refuss were three paintings by douard Manet:

17

Young Man in the Costume of a Majo, 1863; Mademoiselle V. . . in the Costume of an Espada, 1862; and Le Bain
(The Bath) (now called Le Djeuner sur lherbe [Luncheon on the Grass]), 1863. There are no minutes of the jurys
meetings, so in order to gain an idea of what its expectations might have been, we must turn to Salon criticism of the
time. There has been a lot of excitement about this young man. Lets be serious. The Bath, the Majo, the Espada
are good sketches, I will grant you. . . . But then what? Is this drawing? Is this painting? Castagnary asks.19
Est-ce l dessiner? Est-ce l peindre? Note that Castagnary does not ask whether the drawing or the painting is
good, but whether Manets skill amounts to drawing or painting at all. At stake is not just the quality of the object,
but also its very identity. As Michael Fried has argued (and I rely heavily on him here), the art criticism of the 1860s
revolved around a notion that kept in focus all other aesthetic expectationssuch as the demand for finish, for
balance, for compositiona notion precisely capable of giving a painting its very identity qua painting: the notion
of the tableau.20 It is with respect to this notion that most critics found Manet wanting. Here is Thodore Pelloquets
view on Le Bain:
M. Manet doesnt know how to compose a tableau, or rather; he has no idea of what is meant by a tableau. . . .
When he places two or three nude figures [sic] on a large canvas, next to two or three of others wearing an
overcoat, in the middle of a landscape hastily brushed in, I wish he had helped me understand his intention. Im not
asking him some philosophical lesson, rather the visible translation of some impression. Im looking for his and
cant find it; it is a rebus blown out of proportion, which no one will ever unravel. 21
The metaphor of the rebus occurs more than once; for example, under the pen of Louis tienne: I search in vain for
the meaning of this unbecoming rebus.22 Failure to read a rebus leaves the viewer to struggle with a meaningless
string of unrelated fragments, a disparate collection of morceaux never adding to a whole. In the criticism and
shoptalk of the time, the word morceau was the dialectical counterpart of tableau. Alphonse Legros, Manets
colleague in what Fried calls the generation of 1863, expressed this dialectic elegantly: I would call tableaux all
successful morceaux that naturally make a composition without seeking to be one.23 More often than not, the critics
judged that Manet could pull off successful morceaux, which, however, did not amount to a tableau.24 In 1870,
Castagnary concluded:
I have nothing to say about this painter who for ten years seems to have made it his task in each Salon to show us
that he possesses part of the qualities necessary to make tableaux. I dont deny those qualities; but Im waiting for
the tableaux.25
The convergence of aesthetic expectations on the notion of the tableau is the third factor that I believe explains the
birth of non-art as a side effect of the institutionalized verdict of the Salon jury. It comes to reinforce the first two
factorsthe strong divisions between the arts in the Beaux-Arts system and the all or nothing consequence of the
jurys aesthetic judgmentso that if a canvas does not fully qualify as a tableau and is rejected on these grounds,
then it is prone to fall into a limbo of sorts. This limbo, I argue, constitutes non-art. But for this limbo to acquire
theoretical consistency, a fourth factor is needed: the explicit denial of all artistic qualitiesand I mean denial in a
quasi-Freudian sense, that is, an involuntary admission of a truth in the guise of its negation.26 The word no must be
uttered, and its true, unacknowledged meaning must be yes.

18

douard Manet, La Gare Saint-Lazare (The Railway), 1873, oil on canvas, 36 3/4 x 43 7/8".
Lets remember that the majority of the Salon jurors were artists; we might want to look into the psychology behind
their decisions. Ill take my clue from Leo Steinberg: Whenever there appears an art that is truly new and original,
the men who denounce it first and loudest are artists. This is from his well-known 1962 article titled
Contemporary Art and the Plight of Its Public, which I find very moving and so relevant to the matter at hand that
Im tempted to retitle it Salon Art and the Plight of Its Jury. As to the plight, Steinberg writes, here I mean
simply the shock of discomfort, or the bewilderment or the anger or the boredom which some people always feel,
and all people sometimes feel, when confronted with an unfamiliar new style.27 The article contains the avowal of
Steinbergs own reaction to an unfamiliar new stylea reaction that I think is very close to what must have been
that of the Salon jury when confronted with Manets Le Bain. Recalling his response to Jasper Johnss first one-man
show in New York in 1958, Steinberg writes:
I disliked the show, and would gladly have thought it a bore. Yet it depressed me and I wasnt sure why. Then I
began to recognize in myself all the classical symptoms of a philistines reaction to modern art. I was angry at the
artist. . . . I was irritated at some of my friends for pretending to like itbut with an uneasy suspicion that perhaps
they did like it, so that I was really mad at myself for being so dull, and at the whole situation for showing me up.
And meanwhile, the pictures remained with meworking on me and depressing me. . . . If I disliked these things,
why not ignore them? It was not that simple. For what really depressed me was what I felt these works were able to
do to all other art. The pictures of de Kooning and Kline, it seemed to me, were suddenly tossed into one pot with
Rembrandt and Giotto.28
If an observer of contemporary art as unprejudiced as Steinberg admits that a new, unexpected work is able to throw
him into such a state of depression, you can imagine how upset the Salon jurors must have been in 1863 when they
had to appraise Manets Le Bain. How much easier it must have been for them to judge that it was not a tableau
worthy of the name, rather than to recognize that it was done by a painter who, they must have sensed, surpassed
them all. We can hear them exclaim: Thats not a tableau, thats not painting! And we would not fail to hear, in
the tone of their outcry, the discomfort, or the bewilderment or the anger or the boredomId say anger more than
boredomor other such signs of emotional turmoil that give their exclamation away for the denial it really is. As
surely as the analysands protest that the thought of killing his father never crossed his mind rings as an avowal of
his Oedipus complex to the psychoanalysts ear, so Thats not a tableau! rings to the art historians ear as an
unacknowledged avowal of the jurys plight. The jurors knew that with Le Bain Manet had radically redefined the
tableau; they just couldnt stand it.
The one feature of denials that is crucial to my argument is that if they didnt betray themselves through the anxious
or rushed tone of their delivery, they would sound utterly rational. The signifier of a denialthe word nois not
different from the symbol of ordinary logical negation; there is no difference in discursive appearance between
denials and negations. Indeed, denial actually forms a subcategory of grammatical negation in general: It is a yes
disguised as a no. The inadvertent invention of non-art hinges on that lack of perceptible difference and on the
confusion it allows.
I HAVE CLAIMED that the invention of non-art took place at the confluence of four factorswe possess them
now, the fourth being the jurys denialbut also that it required the succession of five stages or events, and we have
not yet gotten beyond the first of these, the Salon des Refuss. The second stage or event involves a variation on the
binary structure of the Refuss, and it is crucial because it names the tableau criterion explicitly and formally ushers
in negation, thereby making room for the confusion between negation and denial. In 1874, Manet submits four
works to the Salon. While La Gare Saint-Lazare (The Railway), 1873, and a watercolor are accepted, Bal masqu
lopra (Masked Ball at the Opera), 1873, and Les Hirondelles (The Swallows), 1873, are rejected. The poet
Stphane Mallarm rushes to Manets defense in an article where he writes:

19

Entrusted with the nebulous vote of the painters with the responsibility of choosing, from among the framed pictures
offered, those that are truly tableaux in order to show them to us, the jury has nothing else to say but: this is a
tableau, or that is not a tableau.29

douard Manet, Bal masqu lopra

(Masked Ball at the Opera), 1873, oil on
canvas, 23 1/4 x 28 5/8".
Mallarm is well aware that the worst framed pictures are tableaux, nominally speaking; he invites the jury to
separate them aesthetically from ce quil existe vritablement de tableaux. Let the jurors abstain from all judgment
of taste beyond this elementary assessment and let the public decide which pictures, among those that are truly
paintings, are good paintings; which pictures, among those that are tableaux worthy of the name, are tableaux
worthy of the publics praise. What is very curious in Mallarms admonishment to the jury is that, in practice, the
jury already does what the poet exhorts it to do. It has no other choice but to obey the all or nothing paradigm that
rules over its aesthetic judgment. Mallarm may be thinking that he is urging the jury to adopt a new behavior; his
protest actually acknowledges receipt of the new paradigm and puts words to it: Ceci est un tableau. Voil qui nest
point un tableau. In comparison with the latter judgment, phrases such as This painting is ugly, unfinished, or
terribly executed dont have the same power of undermining the ontological nature of the judged object and thus of
threatening its status as art. Delacroix already recognized this threat when he said that the painter
cannot take an isolated morceau or even a collection of morceaux and make a tableau out of it. One should make
sure to circumscribe the idea so that the mind of the spectator doesnt hover over a whole necessarily cut into
pieces: otherwise, there would be no art.30
There would be no artin the singular. Delacroix had died in August 1863, a few weeks after the Salon des Refuss
ended. If he visited it and saw Le Bain, which is doubtful, he never expressed his opinion. My guess is that despite
his possible irritation he would not have refused that painting the quality of a tableau; he would have displayed the
same intelligent openness as Steinberg when the latter set out to write on the very paintings that had so depressed
him a few years before.31 Not so the 1874 jury: The jurors took Delacroix at his word and masqueraded their
emotional denial as reasoned negation. Like Le Bain in 1863, Manets Masked Ball at the Opera fell into the limbo
of non-art in 1874.
Ten years later, in 1884, the Socit des Artistes Indpendants was founded, and this event signaled the third stage
in the inventionor, better, the discoveryof non-art, each stage bringing us closer to full awareness of the
existence of such a limbo. Of crucial importance to this third stage is that the Socits no-jury rule implicitly
contained the a priori admission that anything a member would present counted as potential art. What the Socit
did not foresee, even though it logically followed from its no-jury rule, was that a betrayal of said rule automatically

20

amounted to the denial of the rejected works potential art status. Whatever the Socit refused to show would ipso
facto be tossed into the limbo of non-art, where it would keep company with Le Bain, Masked Ball at the Opera, and
all the other paintings that had been banned from public view over the years because the Salon jurors could not,
would not, admit that the works were tableaux worthy of the name.
There is to my knowledge no other record of the Socit betraying its no-jury rule and rejecting the work of one of
its members other than the episode when Duchamps Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2) was expelled from the
1912 Salon des Indpendants, presumably for not being a tableau cubiste worthy of the name. With that event, the
fourth stage in the birth of non-art was reached. The event on which the fifth and last stage hinged now leaps to the
eye: It is the repetition of the Socits betrayal by its American carbon copy, the New York Society of Independent
Artists, in 1917. Of course this time around, the repetition was contrived; the betrayal was shrewdly anticipated;
Duchamp planned that the urinal innocently handed in by Richard Mutt would be refused and would thus be
tossed into the limbo of non-art. He was able to do so because he had firsthand experience of an object in the nature
of Le Bain having been tossed into it, a painful experience he would neither forget nor forgive: The Fountain
episode was the voluntary and vengeful replay of the Nude Descending a Staircase episode. It brought the invention
or discoveryboth words are in the end equally inadequateof non-art full circle when Duchamp published the
photo of R. Mutts urinal in The Blind Man, with the triple caption: Fountain by R. Mutt; Photograph by Alfred
Stieglitz; THE EXHIBIT REFUSED BY THE INDEPENDENTS. With that photo, Duchamp pulled R. Mutts
urinal from the limbo of non-art and patiently waited for the art critics of the 60s and 70s to fall into his trapand
to make non-art a subcategory of art.
Dont ask whether Duchamp was fully conscious of having put a message in the mail with Fountain, a message that,
once peeled, onion-like, reveals him as the messenger of non-art. Ask, rather, if there are more layers to the onion.
There should be at least one: The circumstances of the progressive birth of non-art are congruent with the time and
place in which the Beaux-Arts institution collapsed. When one institution collapses, another takes its place: History,
like nature, abhors a vacuum. The new institution, in which we still live and which I call Art-in-General, has
negativity branded on its birth certificatenegativity resting on betrayal and fueled by denial. I doubt its the kind
of dialetically positive negativity Buchloh has in mind when he argues that artistic production should be judged by
its dialetical capacities of critical negativity and utopian anticipationbut who knows? Ask the messenger, read
the message, there is still more to it.
Thierry de Duve is currently teaching at the School of Visual Arts in New York. In fall 2013, he was Kirk Varnedoe
visiting professor at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University.
Next month: Part V: The Invention of Non-ArtTheory
Visit Artforums archive at Artforum.com for the first three essays in de Duves ongoing series Pardon My French
(October 2013), Dont Shoot the Messenger (November 2013), and Why Was Modernism Born in France?
(January 2014).
NOTES
(Unless otherwise indicated, all quotations in French are the authors translation.)
1. Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, Farewell to an Identity, Artforum, December 2012, 257.
2. See my book Kant After Duchamp (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996). Chapter eight, Archaeology of Practical
Modernism, raises the question of whether art retains its critical function when it is cut off from the
Enlightenments emancipation project.
3. Theodor W. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, trans. R. Hullot-Kentor (London: Athlone Press, 1999), 311.

21

4. See my Resisting Adorno, Revamping Kant, in Art and Aesthetics After Adorno, ed. Anthony J. Cascardi
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 24999.
5. Buchloh, Farewell to an Identity, 258. On the concept of de-skilling, see John Roberts, The Intangibilities of
Form: Skill and Deskilling in Art After the Readymade (New York: Verso, 2007).
6. See my Dont Shoot the Messenger, Artforum, November 2013, 267.
7. Paul Cummings, Taped Interview with Carl Andre, 1972, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.
As quoted in Carl Andre, Cuts: Texts 19592004, ed. James Meyer (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2005), 91.
8. In a letter to his sister Suzanne dated April 11, 1917, Duchamp writes: I would like to have a special exhibition
of the people who were refused at the Independentsbut that would be a redundancy! And the urinal would have
been lonely. Francis Naumann, ed., Affectueusement, Marcel: Ten Letters from Marcel Duchamp to Suzanne
Duchamp and Jean Crotti, Archives of American Art Journal 22, no. 4 (1982): 8.
9. Here are a few such titles of Salon catalogues: Explication des peintures, sculptures et autres ouvrages de
messieurs de lacadmie royale (1737); Ouvrages de peinture, sculpture, et architecture, gravure, dessins, modles,
exposs au Louvre par ordre de lAssemble Nationale, au mois de septembre 1791, lan III de la Libert (1791);
Explication des ouvrages de peinture, sculpture, architecture, gravure, et lithographie des artistes vivants (1848);
Catalogue des ouvrages de peinture, sculpture, gravure, lithographie, et architecture (1863).
10. See Stephen Bann, Paul Delaroche: History Painted (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), 20027.
11. I am referring here to empirical object-identification. This does not preclude sophisticated intersections on the
art-theoretical level, such as the ut pictura poesis doctrine, and even less so ontological speculation on the question
of why there are several arts rather than one, and why, as Jean-Luc Nancy has argued, they touch (and dont overlap)
each other. See Nancy, The Muses, trans. Peggy Kamuf (Redwood City, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996).
12. In an endnote on page 619 of Manets Modernism: or, The Face of Painting in the 1860s (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1996), Michael Fried offers this comment to what I had written in The Monochrome and the
Blank Canvas (chapter four of Kant After Duchamp): Incidentally, de Duve believes that with the Salon des
Refuss the aesthetic judgment was structurally cast into the binary form either/or, substituting for the continuous
scale of taste and that the ubiquity of the paradigm of refusal (together with the very existence of public salons)
was largely responsible for the fact that the phenomenon of the avant-garde was born in France (310n 97). My
reading of the pertinent texts suggests, however, that a criticism based on the continuous scale of taste came into
being only in the wake of Impressionism, which is not to say that de Duve is wrong to associate the rise of the avantgarde at least partly with a critical binarism that was strongly in evidence throughout Manets career. My argument
today is more complex than at the time of Kant After Duchamp: I no longer believe that the Salon des Refuss
simply substituted an either/or for the continuous scale of taste. I rather maintain that the Salon des Refuss
brought into the open the superimposition of an either/or onto the continuous scale of aesthetic experience, a
superimposition which had been a feature of the Salon ever since the jury was instituted. Fried may be right in
claiming that criticism based on the continuous scale of taste came into being only in the wake of Impressionism.
That is an issue different from the phenomenology of aesthetic experience, which we have no reason to believe
changed significantly in such a short historical time span as 185080.
13. The five members of the Institut were Isidore Pils, Alexandre Cabanel, Louis-Nicolas Cabat, Tony RobertFleury, and Jean-Lon Grme. The professor at the cole des Beaux-Arts was Charles Gleyre. The three future
academicians were Jules Breton, Franois-Louis Franais, and Paul Baudry. The three outsiders with respect to the
academy were Alexandre Bida, Eugne Fromentin, and Charles-Franois Daubigny. And the six state appointees
who were not artists were Alfred Arago, Charles Blanc, Cottier (first name unknown), Thophile Gautier, Louis La
Caze, and the minister Maison. See Andre Sfeir-Semler, Die Maler am Pariser Salon 17911880 (Frankfurt:
Campus Verlag, 1992), 144.

22

14. For example, the jury of the 1847 Salon held thirteen five-hour-long sessions to appraise 4,883 works, which
comes down to forty-eight seconds per work on average. Sfeir-Semler, Die Maler am Pariser Salon, 12627.
15. Sfeir-Semler, Die Maler am Pariser Salon, 122.
16. Out of 3,996 submitted works, 2,147 were refused. Ibid., 41.
17. William Hauptman, Juries, Protests, and Counter-Exhibitions before 1850, Art Bulletin 57, no. 1 (1985): 100.
18. Jules-Antoine Castagnary, quoted by Grard-Georges Lemaire, Esquisses en vue dune histoire du Salon (Paris:
Henri Veyrier, 1986), 54.
19. Jules-Antoine Castagnary, Salon de 1863, LArtiste, August 15, 1863; quoted in Pierre Courthion and Pierre
Cailler, eds., Manet racont par lui-mme et ses amis, II (Genve: Pierre Cailler, 1953), 237.
20. Fried, Manets Modernism, 26780.
21. Thodore Pelloquet, LExposition: Journal du Salon de 1863, July 23, 1863. Fried cites a slightly different
translation and gives the French in an endnote (Manets Modernism, 272 and 560n20).
22. Louis tienne, Le Jury et les exposants: Salon des Refuss (Paris: E. Dentu, 1863), 30; quoted in George Heard
Hamilton, Manet and His Critics (New York: Norton, 1969), 45. The French, Je cherche en vain ce que peut
signifier ce logogriphe peu sant, is given by Fried (Manets Modernism, 570n82).
23. Alphonse Legros, letter to Henri Fantin-Latour, dated February 17, 1858, quoted in a different (and inadequate)
translation by Fried, who gives the French in an endnote (Manets Modernism, 272 and 560n22).
24. Thus Thophile Thor: I cant imagine what made an artist of such intelligence and refinement select so absurd
a composition. . . . But there are qualities of color and light in the landscape, and even very convincing bits of
modeling [morceaux de model] in the womans body. Quoted in Hamilton, Manet and His Critics, 50.
(Translation slightly modified.)
25. Castagnary, Salon de 1870, 429; quoted by Fried, who gives the French in an endnote (Manets Modernism,
272 and 560n21).
26. Sigmund Freuds word for denial is Verneinung, to be distinguished from both Verleugnung (disavowal) and
Verwerfung (rejection, Lacans forclusion). Contrary to the cases of denial analyzed by Freud, the jurys denial
involves involuntary but not necessarily unconscious admission of a truth under the guise of its negation.
27. Leo Steinberg, Contemporary Art and the Plight of its Public, in Other Criteria: Confrontations with
Twentieth-Century Art (New York: Oxford University Press, 1972; Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2007), 5.
28. Steinberg, Contemporary Art,12.
29. Ceci est un tableau, ou encore: Voil qui nest point un tableau. Stphane Mallarm, Le Jury de peinture
pour 1874 et M. Manet, uvres compltes (Paris: Bibliothque de la Pliade, 1945), 699. I quote from Hamiltons
translation (Manet and His Critics, 184), with the French tableau restored for Hamiltons painting. In a footnote
on page 281 of Manets Modernism that discusses Vincent Descombess comment on whether Mallarms notion of
the tableau responded to specific criteria (Descombes answers negatively), Fried writes: The problem Manet
encountered was that Salon juries and all but a few critics behaved as if there were criteria for tableaux which his
submissions shockingly failed to satisfy. The question of criteria is a huge one for aesthetic theory. I avoid raising it
here by using the word expectations instead.

23

30. Eugne Delacroix, LIdal et le ralisme, LArtiste, June 1, 1868, 339. Fried cites a slightly different
translation and gives the French in an endnote (Manets Modernism, 269 and 558n11).
31. Steinberg, Jasper Johns: The First Seven Years of his Art, in Other Criteria, 1754.

March 2014

IN THE FIFTH OF THE SERIES of new essays on the avant-garde for Artforum, historian and philosopher
Thierry de Duve investigates the ideas behind one of modernisms most notorious inventions: non-art, that
vexing category of things that reject, trouble, and ultimately expand the definition of art itself. From the
nineteenth-century Beaux-Arts system to Marcel Duchamps radical readymade Fountain, 1917, to the
pluralism of the present day; from the fin-de-sicle ruminations of Stphane Mallarm to the aesthetic
pronouncements of Clement Greenberg, de Duve reveals the astonishing theoretical implications of non-art
as term, as idea, and as type. In the process, he offers a groundbreaking narrative for the emergence of our
contemporary understanding of art.

Unknown artist (formerly attributed to Piero della Francesca), Citt Ideale (Ideal City), ca. 1480, oil on panel,
23 1/2 x 79".
You can only make absolute statements negatively.1
Ad Reinhardt
IN 1966, DONALD JUDD, reflecting on a widespread debate in contemporary art circles, wrote in a somewhat
exasperated tone: Non-art, anti-art, non-art art and anti-art art are useless. If someone says his work is art,
its art.2 The sovereign naming power that Judd granted himself and his fellow artists here is remarkable. Those of
us who are not artists, or who are rival artists, might object to such a fiat. Those who are critics, gallery owners,
museum curators, or collectors might object less to this fiat than to its appropriation by the sole artist. Well, the
objection seems to have been vindicated: By the beginning of the 1980s, the power of calling something art had

24

purportedly shifted from the artist to the institution of art as a whole. In the words of one critic, the late Thomas
McEvilley:
To be art is to be called art, by the people who supposedly are in charge . . . artists, critics, curators, art historians,
and so on. . . . If something (anything) is presented as art by an artist and contextualized as art within the system
then it is art, and there is nothing anybody can do about it.3
There is a lot you can do about it, starting with not letting yourself be intimidated by the people who supposedly
are in charge, and ending with the construction of an aesthetic theory of art that offers a viable alternative to the
nominalism of institutional theories such as McEvilleys.
Constructing the lineaments of just such an alternative aesthetic theory was precisely what Clement Greenberg
endeavored to do in a series of seminars he conducted at Bennington College, Vermont, in the early 70s. In one of
these seminars, Greenberg reproached the Italian philosopher Benedetto Croce (whose early-twentieth-century
lectures on aesthetics he found second only to Kant) for not having followed through on his intuition that anything
that can yield an aesthetic experience can also yield an artistic experience, and for having missed, therefore, that all
reality, all possibility is virtually art, not necessarily realized as art, but virtual as art. Greenberg went on to say:
It was Croces big mistake, and others, to say that if art is bad, it is not art, and then to leave it undecided as to
what bad art was, what order of experience it belonged to. That left a whole huge area of human experience
unaccounted for; not bad art, non-art. And introspection, I think, shows that this isnt so, that it is the very nature of
art to contain infinite degrees of value, quality, and so forth.4
Introspection shows that this isnt so: If you reflect enough on your aesthetic experience of art, Greenberg argued,
youll realize that you cannot draw a line beyond which bad art is so terribly bad that it ceases to be art at all. I must
say that I agree. I know from experience that the aesthetic appreciation of art is a matter of intensity of feeling and
urgency of thought on a continuous scale of nuances. Even though, in theory, there ought to be a boundary
somewhere between art and non-art, in experience it is bound to dissolve. I beg your pardon: I just wrote non-art
as shorthand for what is not art. In Greenbergs account, non-art is not the same thing as not-art, yet it is not
simply a trivial subcategory of art either, as Judd would have us believe. Non-art is bad art mistaken for not-art.
That mistake is not an error of taste, and thus supposedly not a matter of aesthetic experience; philosophers would
call it a category mistake (a fallacy where things that belong to one category are mistakenly placed in another)and
a strange one, because it seems to be voluntary. If I understand Greenberg correctly, non-art is what results from a
refusal to judge aesthetically something that ought to have been the object of an aesthetic judgment, however severe.
Works of art are such things. Indeed, Greenbergs adamant conviction was that when no esthetic value judgment,
no verdict of taste, is there, then art isnt there either, then esthetic experience of any kind isnt there. Its as simple
as that.5

Detail of caricature by Honor

Daumier published in Le Charivari,
April 6, 1859. The caption reads:

25

Ignoramuses . . . they have refused this!

BUT SIMPLE IT CERTAINLY ISNT. Where does the refusal to make an aesthetic judgment originate? In a
willful decision of the viewer? In a conscious intention on the part of the artist? Croces opinion that bad art is not
art means that he upholds the first theory: There are works that are so bad they dont even deserve aesthetic
attention; you wont even look at them. But are you not, then, making another category mistake, one between
attention and judgment? And if you decide not to looknot to look attentivelyis it not because one glance was
enough? If introspection tells you, as it certainly told Greenberg and as it tells me, that aesthetic experience is
judgment and that both are involuntary (that is, you cant help liking or disliking a given work), then you begin to
question whether the refusal to judge aesthetically was a conscious, voluntary decision, even though turning your
attention away was a deliberate one. Cover that breast, which Id rather not see, the hypocritical Tartuffe exclaims
in Molires eponymous play.6 Honestly, wouldnt you admit that averting your gaze in order to avoid aesthetic
judgment was the paradoxical outcome of an aesthetic experience you had but denied having had? Croces mistake
is more twisted and complicated than Greenberg thought: In practice, sometimes we do draw a line between art and
non-artpardon, between art and not-art, between art worthy of the name and art so bad or so disturbing (more
about that later) that we judge it undeserving of the name. And we dont commit a category mistake if we draw that
line aesthetically, while denying having had an aesthetic experience. It would be closer to the truth to say that we
invoke the category mistake conflating bad art and not-art as if it were an alibi for our denial of aesthetic judgment in
the first place. Greenberg would have to agree that in this instance, we unwittingly produce a case of non-art.
Now, what about the second theory? What if the refusal to pass aesthetic judgment originates not in the viewers
decision but in the artists intention? That yields another brand of non-art: art that banks on Croces mistake; art that
wants to be dismissed as not-art and seeks confusion with the vast empirical world of what-is-not-art, yet in which
Greenberg saw an infinity of virtual, potential art; art that traps viewers into denying the aesthetic experience they
inevitably had; in short, art as not-art. Can that brand of non-art be good art? Is it automatically bad art? Should it
be rejected as not-art on account of the artists avowed intention? Or, on the contrary, hailed as non-art for the same
reason? In Greenbergs mind, that brand of non-art is ipso facto inferior art because it pretends to shunt aesthetic
judgment; it makes a theoretical point of making judgment of taste beside the point. Here Greenberg added: And it
is inferior art that hoped, in making judgments of taste beside the point, also to make its own qualitative inferiority
beside the point.7
Readers of Artforum wont be surprised to learn that Marcel Duchamps readymades were, for Greenberg, the
epitome of such inferior art, the prototype for all the far-out avant-gardism they authorized and against which he
systematically railed. Although this is not true for all the artists readymades, the urinal Fountain undeniably wanted
to be dismissed as not-art, sought confusion with the world out there, and banked on Croces category mistake. For
that very reason, Duchamp cannot be accused of making that mistake. In his critique of Croce, Greenberg disputed
that a line could be traced in the continuous scale of aesthetic experience. But this is no longer the issue. Since the
artist drew it in advance of the viewer, the line is not a matter of the viewers experience at all; it runs between two
parties in an agonistic game. On either side are two groups who differ less in their appreciation than in their theories:
Viewers upholding Croces theory think that bad art, or the worst art, does not deserve its name. They exclude
Fountain from the domain of art, not realizing that they fall into the artists trap, and in fact endorse the production
of an instance of not-art as artalbeit as art unworthy of the name, as inferior art. Viewers upholding Greenbergs
theory go along with him in refusing to rule out Fountain but maintaining that, as one particular instance of inferior
art, it demonstrates that to speak of art worthy or not worthy of the name is irrelevant, because art is not an
honorific status. The condition of being art does not necessarily confer honor or more than minimal value on
anything or any event or any act or any moment.8
Clever, but wrong. It is not up to the critic or the theorist of aesthetics to decide whether art has honorific status.
Society bestows honors on certain human activities and not on others, and there is not one society on earth (so far)
that does not salute art and artists with marks of honor. These can be anything from religious worship to hero
glorification to media glamorization; the point is that Greenberg was wrong if he thought he could weasel out of a
difficult theoretical conundrum by stripping art of its honorific status. Or did he think that ranks of aesthetic
superiority or inferiority are somehow miraculously immune to contamination by what defines honorific status
socially? We might remind ourselves that honorific status is never abstract and, in that sense, never purely honorific.
It entails power, prestige, wealth, privilege, public veneration, career advancement, and other entitlements. The

26

social body that plays arbiter, that distributes honor, power, wealth, prestige, and privilege among artists, that
advances the careers of some and blocks others from public veneration, is what we call the institution of artin
McEvilleys term, the system.
The passage from one such system to another is the broader scope of my Artforum series as a whole, and the role
that non-art played in this passage is the focus of this and last months essays.9 The art institution we left behind is
the Beaux-Arts system, and the institution we have entered is what I call the Art-in-General system. Right now, the
latter is moving swiftly away from the dealercritic system that defined it since the end of the nineteenth century,
into some private collector/celebrity artist/monopolistic gallery/prestigious auction house/Russian oligarch system
that has disastrous, predictable and perhaps felicitous, unpredictable effects on contemporary art. (Its too early to
tell, and it depends on whether or not a new avant-garde emerges from our contemporaneity in the way the
original avant-garde emerged from nineteenth-century academicism.) We may have left the dealer/critic system
behind economically, but we still live in the Art-in-General system, and probably for a long time to come, because
what defines the latter aesthetically is that in it anything can be art. In Greenbergs words: We live in an ocean of
art or of the possibility of art. An infinity already there.10
I see Duchamp as the messenger who heralded the passage from the Beaux-Arts to the Art-in-General system.11 And
I take Fountain to encapsulate the news of that passage, broadcast in 1917 (with Alfred Stieglitzs photo of the work
in the journal The Blind Man, which tells of the urinals disappearance from the First Annual Exhibition of the
Society of Independent Artists) but not reaching its audience until the mid-60s, when a myriad of artists suddenly
acknowledged receipt of it. Although Greenberg was a little slower on the uptake than many of those artists, he
didnt make the mistake of shooting the messenger when he spoke of an infinity already there. It is remarkable
that, for all his hatred of Duchamp and of all the bad art Duchamps success had spawned, Greenberg never rejected
the readymades as not-art. He acknowledged them as a demonstration worth making and never made before: that
everything is potential artor, as he put it, virtually art.12 Whether such a thing can be demonstrated is doubtful,
but it doesnt affect what is important in Greenbergs insight: the fact that Duchamp didnt change the art
institutionas if any artist could single-handedly achieve a change of that magnitude. Duchamp certainly conceived
the idea of readymades, and he chose them one by one; he produced Fountain in precise circumstances; he most
likely knew that sooner or later someone would coin the expression non-art to account for his gesture and similar
ones by other artists; but he did not invent non-art. Neither did other Dada artists or Dada as a movement. As I
argued in last months essay, the invention of non-art is some fifty years older than Dada and cannot be attributed to
any artist at all. It is an involuntary side effect of the binary structure of aesthetic judgment in the French Beaux-Arts
systems main state apparatus, the nineteenth-century Salon.
WITH GREENBERGS INSIGHT about Croces mistake in mind, let us now revisit the five stages of the birth of
non-art I outlined in my previous essay. First stage: the Salon des Refuss. I have argued that the jurors rejection of
douard Manets Le Bain (The Bath, now titled Le Djeuner sur lherbe [Luncheon on the Grass]), 1863, at the
Salon that same year rested on the denial of their intensely emotional aesthetic response to the painting: The jurors
knew that with Le Bain Manet had radically redefined the tableau; they just couldnt stand it.13 I admit this was
speculative. But in the absence of direct historical testimony, we are bound to speculate. So I drew on my experience
and on that of Leo Steinberg, as recounted in his essay Contemporary Art and the Plight of Its Public (1962), in
order to construct a plausible phenomenology of the jurys verdict.14 Let me now build on that. First, allow me to
dispel all allegations that the painting was a prank intended to mock tradition and to shock the bourgeois. This may
very well have been an unintended effect of the painting, of which Manet was aware and which he accepted, but
anti-art was definitely not on his mind. Then, let me emphasize the seriousness and ambition of the artists endeavor
with Le Bain, by resting my appraisal of his intentions on Michael Frieds now-classic analysis of the painting: Fried
reads the problematic unity of the canvas as relying on an unprecedented attempt to achieve the synthesis of all the
genres of painting.15 And let me thus speculate the following: Manet presented the jurors with what he conceived as
a tableau, which quasi-didactically embodied that attempt at a synthesis. The jurors intuitively sensed Manets
ambition because their notion of the tableauthe one prevalent in the criticism of the 1860sinvolved a
coalescence of qualities independent of genre. But they could not, or would not, accept the consequence Manet drew
from that independence, namely, that tableau henceforth stood for painting at large rather than for portrait,
landscape, or history painting.16 In their eyes, none of the qualities that would award the painting the status of a
tableauand pace Greenberg, that was an honorific statuswere present. As far as they were concerned, Manet had
thrown a commotion on the canvas: a still life in the lower-left corner, a superb morceau de peinture, but how

27

lackadaisically strewn on the models petticoat!; a landscape in the background painted so hastily it looked like a
theater backdrop; and an incomprehensible genre scene in the middle, in which the jury may or may not have
recognized an updated, thirdhand quotation of Raphael, via Marcantonio and Charles Blanc, not counting the
indecent nude that looks us in the eyes and tosses Ingress slick odalisque into one pot with Rembrandt and
Giotto.17 The jurors saw the impure mixture of the genres but not their new synthesis. As a result, Le Bain appeared
to them as a total negation or betrayal of the conventions of the tableau in any genre, and this was enough to
motivate their rejection of the painting.
Negation and betrayal were, in the jurors minds, perpetrated by the artist. From our point of view, however, it is
clear that the jurors, not the artist, enunciated the negation. They are the ones who judged that Le Bain was not a
tableau good enough to be shown. With that switch in agency, the meaning of betrayal changes: It meant treason for
the jurors, who accused Manet of it; it means involuntary admission for us, who attribute it to the jurors. Did the
jurors commit Croces mistake? Did they wrongly take bad art for not-art? Not exactly; we are dealing here with a
more sophisticated variant of Croces mistake. First, Le Bain was not so much bad art in the jurors eyes as
disquieting art, upsetting art, incomprehensible and perhaps revolting art; all epithets that made them accuse Manet
of betrayal. Second, the jurors did not rule that Le Bain was not art, only that it had to be banned from public view.
(If the painting ended up being shown, it was only thanks to the emperor, Napoleon III, who authorized the Salon
des Refuss.) But to ears attuned to the exasperated tone of their possible debate, their verdict sounds like an
involuntary avowal of the paintings perceived but not acknowledged qualities. It conveys a negation of a particular
kind, a denial in the quasi-Freudian sense, a no that betrays itself as a yes. Third, and this is crucial: When the
jurors denied Le Bain the aesthetic qualities that would have made it a tableau in their eyes, did they also deny
having had an aesthetic experience? I speculate that they did. A negative aesthetic experience rarely translates as the
claim of not having had an aesthetic experience at all, but this seems to have been the case here, as close attention
to the second stage of the birth of non-art may confirm.
THAT STAGE WAS REACHED when Stphane Mallarm penned Le Jury de peinture pour 1874 et M. Manet,
in reaction to the rejection of Manets Bal masqu lOpra (Masked Ball at the Opera) and Les Hirondelles (The
Swallows), both 1873, by the jury of the 1874 Salon. The excerpt I quoted in last months essay is worth further
scrutiny:
Entrusted with the nebulous vote of the painters with the responsibility of choosing, from among the framed pictures
offered, those that are truly tableaux in order to show them to us, the jury has nothing else to say but: this is a
tableau, or that is not a tableau.18
I have previously pointed out how curious it seemed that Mallarm was exhorting the jury to do something it already
did. This is a symptom. The context leaves no doubt that the poet was not simply describing the jurys task; he was
enjoining the jury to utter a judgment that he thought they should have pronounced but didnt. He was irritated that
the jurors let their personal taste override what should have been a more neutral, open, objective appraisal. Yet
Mallarm must have known that such an appraisal was aesthetic, even if it shunned taste: He didnt invite the jury to
separate tableaux from non-tableaux the way you and I would separate chairs from objects that are not chairs. And
how did he understand tableau? He may not have been fully aware of the formal expectations that the critics of the
1860s saw converging in the notion of the tableau, particularly since, by the Salons of the 1870s, that term had lost
some of its stringency. He may have used the word tableau in a sense closer to its everyday usage, ormore
likelyas imbued with the very neutral feeling of the artistic worth discernible in each thing in which it dwells,19
which he admonished the jury to recognize. Whatever the case, there is no doubt that this is a tableau conveys an
aesthetic judgment, albeit a liminal one; it admits a given framed picture into the domain of those that are truly
tableaux, and thereby establishes its admissibility into the higher domain of art. In short, this is a tableau means
this can be artnot this is art. To be a tableau in Mallarms sense is not in itself the guarantor of art status; it
warrants only the legitimacy of the claim to art status. I believe that Mallarm thought that the task of the jury was to
grant or refuse that legitimacy, and that the task of the public was to grant or refuse, in various proportions, the
trademark of aesthetic excellence and originality that nineteenth-century viewers identified with art status proper.
The impression we have that Mallarm exhorted the jury to do something it already did may be accounted for by a
deeper intuition on the poets part regarding the specifics of the division of labor between jury and public. If the
jurys verdict this is truly a tableau means this can be art, then the publics appreciation (this is a good tableau)
means this is truly artart worthy of the name.

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How do I know this? How is all this more than gratuitous speculation? Decoding Mallarms mannerist prose
requires reading between the lines. The answer may come from focusing on his implicit treatment of the alternative,
negative judgment. Only if the verdict this is not a tableau means this cannot claim any sort of aesthetic
excellence should the jury be allowed to hide a picture from the public. For the public is the master at this point,
and can demand to see everything that there is.20 Should the jury sense in a picture even the faintest whiff of the
tableau, they must show it: Dfense den cacher un.21 Therefore, this is not a tableau must entail the illegitimacy
of the pictures claim to art status; it must mean this cannot be art and not just this is not art. Only by way of a
logical ricochet am I able to infer the positive from the negative: that this is a tableau means this can be art and
not this is art. To cite Reinhardt again: You can only make absolute statements negatively. Positive statements are
relativein other words, comparative.
Now, the interesting thing is that because of the lack of a perceptible difference between denial and ordinary logical
negation (both use the symbol no), we can reach the same conclusion without Mallarms help. It is a trivial
consequence of the division of the arts in the Beaux-Arts system that something that is not a painting, and is
obviously not a sculpture, a poem, or a piece of music eithera chair, for examplecannot find a place among the
fine arts, and therefore cannot be art. No value judgment is involved: To say that a chair is not a work of art is no
insult to the chair. Here, I believe, lies the key to the question of whether the jurors made Croces category mistake:
They didnt commit it; they invoked it, whether consciously or not. A chair is not a work of art for the reason
brought up by Greenberg: It doesnt call for an aesthetic judgment. The framed pictures Mallarm asked the jury to
dispatch to the categories of tableau or non-tableau, on the other hand, of course called for the jurys aesthetic
judgment. But the jurors had an alibi for their denial if, under the pretext that Manet did not present them with a fullfledged tableau, they could pretend to remove Les Hirondelles from the category of the tableau, the way you and I
sort chairs from non-chairs.
Im not sure how much of this Mallarm consciously theorized. Id say very little. Whatever the case, his
admonition to the jury symptomatically sheds light on the jurys reach for an alibi: In denying Les Hirondelles the
quality of a tableau, the jurors translated their negative, annoyed, disturbed, but definitely aesthetic response into the
disingenuous after-the-fact claim of not having had an aesthetic experience at all. The ricochet in Mallarms rescue
of the painting is an even more interesting symptom: In reversing the jurors verdict and thus granting legitimate artstatus candidacy to what remained a non-tableau in their eyes, Mallarm transgressed the boundaries of the BeauxArts system. In retrospect, the same can even be said of Napoleon III, when he authorized the Salon des Refuss. I
mentioned earlier that if I understood Greenberg correctly, non-art resulted from a refusal to make an aesthetic
judgment, however severe, about something that ought to be judged aesthetically. We are now a step beyond
Greenberg. Non-art is a strange ontological category: the category of things that claim candidacy to art status and yet
are denied the aesthetic appreciation such things require because, in the Beaux-Arts system, they cannot possibly be
art.
IS THERE AN ART INSTITUTION, different from the Beaux-Arts system, where such things can be art? We
know the answer: In the Art-in-General system in which we live, everything is a legitimate candidate for the status
of art. And we are back to the question I asked in the first essay in this series: Since when? Since when do we live in
the Art-in-General system? When did we exit the Beaux-Arts system? Except in cases of revolution, history doesnt
move overnight from one institution to another, especially not from one with as massive a presence as the French
Beaux-Arts system to one as loosely anarchic as the Art-in-General system. Yet the change could not have occurred
gradually: The Beaux-Arts system morphing seamlessly into the Art-in-General system is as inconceivable as a
monarchy smoothly becoming a republic. A conceptual revolution occurred, radical and absolute, and it is not the
(r)evolution the history of modern art usually narrates. Czannes late paintings morphing into Georges Braques
early Cubism, morphing into Pablo Picassos papiers colls and cardboard constructions, morphing into Kurt
Schwitterss Merzbau and Duchamps readymades, is a familiar story; in no way does it account for the transition
from the Beaux-Arts to the Art-in-General system, which seems to me much better explained historically if we map
it onto the five stages of the invention of non-art. In the long run, such mapping may ask art historians to theorize
our concept of history in new, largely untried ways. For the time being, we might put our efforts on trial by turning
to the third stage in the birth of non-art, the creation in 1884 of the Socit des Artistes Indpendants.
I insisted in last months essay that the Socits motto, Ni jury ni rcompense (no jury, no prizes), amounted to
the a priori admission that anything a member would present counted as potential art. Such an admission preempted

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any judgment stating this cannot be art, since all entries had a legitimate claim to art status as a matter of
principle. The Salon des Indpendants was the first venue in which, to return to Greenbergs terms, all reality, all
possibility [was] virtually art, not necessarily realized as art, but virtual as art.22 I see the Indpendants as the first
historical incarnation of the Art-in-General systema very local one, certainly, hardly pioneering an aesthetic
upheaval and totally blind to the radical shift it precipitated. The Socit could not possibly foresee that the betrayal
of its no-jury rule automatically amounted not only to the denial of the rejected works virtual art status but also to
the refusal to acknowledge the transition from the Beaux-Arts to the Art-in-General system, which the Socit had
willy-nilly accomplished. I would bet that no one among the founders of the Indpendants realized that to refuse a
members entry (on any grounds) did not mean this is not art, but rather this cannot be art, in total contradiction of
the no-jury rule. And no one predicted that someday the Indpendants might have to make an exception to that rule.
It was bound to happen, though, and when it did, the fourth stage in the birth of non-art was reached. We recall that
the hanging committee of the Cubist room of the 1912 Salon des Indpendants made an exception to the no-jury
rule, of which the young Duchamp was the unsuspecting victim. His Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2), the
committee claimed, was not a bona fide Cubist painting. Bruised and humiliated, Duchamp was forced to remove
the painting from the show. What variant of Croces category mistake, if any, did the committee members commit or
invoke? I dont believe that Albert Gleizes and Jean Metzinger, the most dogmatic among them, refused to see that
the Nude was art, even less that it could be art. On the other hand, I wager that they had a reaction as emotional as
that of the jurors of the 1863 and the 1874 Salons who saw Manets entries. There is a huge difference, though. The
Indpendants had exited the Beaux-Arts system, and Gleizes and Metzinger didnt realize that. Whether or not they
denied that their negative aesthetic experience was an aesthetic experience at all, denial was now a built-in
consequence of the institutions rules: Denying the right to the status of art to something that had that right as a
matter of principle amounted to an automatic, a priori refusal to judge that thing aesthetically. Neither the
psychology nor the phenomenology of aesthetic experience mattered anymore.
A line now appears that separates two parties in an agonistic game. Gleizes and Metzinger thought that the Nude
didnt deserve the name of Cubist painting. Duchamp seemed to think that Cubist painting was not necessarily an
honorific status, but he was deeply hurt all the same. The chance for revenge came his way when the vagaries of the
war made him cross paths with Gleizes once again. This happened in New York, where both men had landed after
fleeing Europe. Both were consulted about the creation of a new artists society in opposition to the conservative
Academy of Design. One of them (or both) advised the Ashcan School alumni who formed the core of the protesters
to model the statutes of their society after those of the French Indpendants: No jury, no prizes. The rest is history. It
is also the last and fifth stage in the birth of non-art, now clearly identified with the last and fifth stage of the advent
of the Art-in-General system. A few days before the opening of its first salon, held in April 1917, the board of
directors of the newly incorporated Society of Independent Artists received an entry from a certain Richard Mutt
titled Fountain, which was actually a urinal turned on its side, dated, and signed the way works of art are supposed
to be. Duchamp alias Mutt had chosen the object so as to make sure that it would be rejected. He had set a trap.
An exhibition of art is a context of expected aesthetic expectations. The Societys directors didnt know exactly
what to expect. They were ready for amateur art, childrens drawings, decorative objects of all kinds, even (why
not?) fountainsbut of course not the one Richard Mutt had in store for them. Mutt, who had the right to exhibit
two works in exchange for his six-dollar membership dues, expected that the directors wouldnt stretch the range of
their expectations beyond the boundaries of the Beaux-Arts system; yet he demanded that they do just that, that they
judge a urinal aesthetically, as a legitimate candidate for the name of art. They did, because their no-jury rule forced
them to do so. At an emergency meeting to decide the fate of the litigious object, one of the directors on the board
apparently exclaimed: You mean to say, if a man sent in horse manure glued to a canvas that we would have to
accept it!23 To expect manure on a canvas was bad enough, but it could still be conceived within the Beaux-Arts
system; to stretch ones range of expectations to manure, period, was really beyond the pale for that director.24 This
betrays that he (and his colleagues) were aware of the peculiar nature of Richard Mutts trap: By asking them to
pronounce aesthetically on Fountains candidacy to art status, Mutt had asked them whether they were ready to
acknowledge the collapse of the Beaux-Arts system and the advent of the Art-in-General system.
They were not. After a heated discussion, they whisked the urinal away and issued a press release stating, The
Fountain may be a very useful object in its place, but its place is not an art exhibition and it is, by no definition, a
work of art.25 By no definition entailed that the useful object in question could not be art. The board of directors

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had clearly fallen into Mutts trap and reacted exactly as Duchamp had expected them to react: They refused to
acknowledge the consequence of their own no-jury rule. They could not fathom that they were, in spite of
themselves, the pioneers of the new Art-in-General system.
Duchamp could have left it at that and secretly savored his little revenge on Gleizes and Metzinger. But his calling
was to be the messenger. Stieglitzs photo in The Blind Man made sure that the Independents censorship of
Fountain landed on the record, and left it to posterity to draw the consequences. The critics and artists of the 60s
complied. But even they blamed or hailed the messenger. Many lent Duchamp the paternity of non-art, not realizing
that it was actually the Independents who had produced an instance of not-art as art, or of art as not-artthe very
definition of that brand of non-art that results from an artist banking on Croces category mistake and on an audience
falling in his trap.
The limbo of non-art now contains one object that everybody agrees doesnt belong in the Beaux-Arts system. This
agreement is, I believe, Duchamps most remarkable achievement with Fountain. The dividing line is by the same
token, to use his words, the sign of the accordance.26 There are those who cling to the Beaux-Arts system and
reject Fountain, and there are those who celebrate Fountain and reject the Beaux-Arts system. Both groups agree
that Fountain belongs elsewhere, whether it is in the category of inferior art so bad that it doesnt deserve its name
or in the category of the best avant-garde art that leaves Picasso behind as the last of the humanists.27 Am I asked
to take a stand? How could I possibly cling to the Beaux-Arts system, knowing that it died in the 1880s? And why
would I reject it, knowing the same? It would be like rejecting horse carriages because we now have automobiles. I
dont particularly like Duchamps urinal. Give me any Matisse or Picasso or Mondrian or Malevich to live with
theyre better company. But I tip my hat to the messenger. Fountain is a work of genius, no doubt; the bottle rack
(Sche-bouteilles, 1914), the snow shovel (In Advance of the Broken Arm, 1915), the comb (Peigne, 1916), and
perhaps the coatrack (Trbuchet, 1917) come close. I would be hard-pressed to call them inferior art, but I cannot
call them great art either: The physical objects do not sustain renewed encounter on a sufficiently deep, unexpected,
and inexplicable plane of experience. And, as everybody knows, the idea of the readymade is more art theory than
art (which is why, being the theorist I am, I fell for itcall me the perfect sucker).
But Fountain is more than an idea, and its not illustrated theory. Embodied theory, perhaps. The more I think about
it, the more I tend to see Fountain as the most remarkable thought experiment about art ever contrived, as dry and
ethereal and mysteriously political as those quattrocento citte ideale once attributed to Piero della Francesca. An
ideal city is a transcendental place of agreement in disagreement: an agora empty of flesh-and-blood people, a haven
in the public sphere based on the principial legitimacy of dissent. Fountain prompts agreement about its belonging
to the Art-in-General system, something that cannot be positively ascertained. Indeed, there is no proof that that
system even exists. There is no proof that everything can be art. There are only dissenting judgments. To paraphrase
Mallarm, the judge of art has only to say: This is art, or this is not art. And as Reinhardt knew, only the latter is
an absolute statement.
Next month: Part VI: This Is ArtAnatomy of a Sentence
Thierry de Duve is currently teaching at the School of Visual Arts in New York. In fall 2013, he was Kirk Varnedoe
visiting professor at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University.
Visit Artforums archive at Artforum.com for the first four essays in this series: Pardon My French (October
2013), Dont Shoot the Messenger (November 2013), Why Was Modernism Born in France? (January 2014),
and The Invention of Non-Art: A History (February 2014).
NOTES
(Unless otherwise indicated, all quotations in French are the authors translation.)
1. Phyllisann Kallick, An Interview with Ad Reinhardt, Studio International 174 (December 1967): 272.

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2. Donald Judd, Statement, in Donald Judd: The Complete Writings 19591975 (Halifax, Canada: The Press of
Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, 2005), 190. Originally published in Kynaston McShine, ed., Primary
Structures: Younger American and British Sculptors, exh. cat. (New York: The Jewish Museum, 1966).
3. Thomas McEvilley, Art in the Dark, Artforum, Summer 1983, 63.
4. Clement Greenberg, Homemade Esthetics (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 158.
5. Ibid., 62.
6. Couvrez ce sein que je ne saurais voir! Molire, Tartuffe, 3.2.86062.
7. Greenberg, Homemade Esthetics, 159.
8. Ibid., 158.
9. See my The Invention of Non-Art: A History, Artforum, February 2014, 19299, 238.
10. Greenberg, Homemade Esthetics, 158.
11. This, after having seen him as the messenger of anything goes (Artforum, October 2013), of everyone is an
artist (Artforum, November 2013), of the collapse of the Beaux-Arts system (Artforum, January 2014), and of the
advent of non-art (Artforum, February 2014).
12. Greenberg, Homemade Esthetics, 158.
13. The Invention of Non-Art: A History, 198.
14. Leo Steinberg, Contemporary Art and the Plight of Its Public, in Other Criteria: Confrontations with
Twentieth-Century Art (New York: Oxford University Press, 1972; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007).
Originally published in Harpers Magazine, March 1962.
15. In sum I see Manets project in the Djeuner as involving a deliberate attempt to bring together and in effect to
fuse in a single large-scale work as many of the major genres of painting as he could encompass. Michael Fried,
Manets Modernism: or, The Face of Painting in the 1860s (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 174.
16. Fried, who sees Manets attempt at a totalization of the major genres of painting as running parallel to, or
indeed as converging with, the artists striving for a universal painting transcending the national schools, speaks of
both endeavors as the pursuit of painting altogether (Manets Modernism, 175, 126, 404). I prefer to speak of
painting at large in order to avoid confusion with art altogether, an expression I shall introduce and explain in
the next Artforum essay in the present series.
17. I quote Steinberg here, who ends his account of the depressing experience he had when visiting Jasper Johnss
first New York solo show, in 1958, thusly: For what really depressed me was what I felt these works were able to
do to all other art. The pictures of de Kooning and Kline, it seemed to me, were suddenly tossed into one pot with
Rembrandt and Giotto. Steinberg, Contemporary Art, 12.
18. Stphane Mallarm, Le Jury de peinture pour 1874 et M. Manet, in uvres compltes (Paris: Bibliothque de
la Pliade, 1945), 699. I quote from George Heard Hamiltons translation (Manet and His Critics, 184), with the
French tableau restored for Hamiltons painting.

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19. Un sentiment trs neutre de la valeur artistique discernable dans toute chose o elle se trouve. Mallarm, Le
Jury de peinture pour 1874 et M. Manet, 699.
20. Il [le public] est le matre ce point, et peut exiger de voir tout ce quil y a. Ibid.
21. It is forbidden to hide one [tableau]. Ibid.
22. Greenberg, Homemade Esthetics, 158.
23. William Camfield, Marcel Duchamp: Fountain (Houston: The Menil Collection, 1989), 25.
24. The director in question is either George Bellows or Rockwell Kent. Beatrice Wood has given two versions of
the story, with either of them engaged in a heated discussion over Fountain with Walter Arensberg. See Camfield,
Marcel Duchamp: Fountain, 2526, note 24.
25. Quoted in Francis Naumann, The Big Show, The First Exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists, Part I,
Artforum, February 1979, 38.
26. The expression the sign of the accordance appears in two notes contained in Marcel Duchamps Green Box.
See Michel Sanouillet and Elmer Peterson, eds., Salt Seller: The Writings of Marcel Duchamp (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1973), 28.
27. John Canaday, Leonardo Duchamp, New York Times, January 17, 1965.

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