The quibbling over the origin of Fountain overshadows a fascinating woman, Louise Varèse, and misses the radical departure from individual authorship.
Dawn Ades and Alastair Brotchie have undertaken a comprehensive examination of this topic, and I will now provide a concise overview of their research. I will also incorporate my own insights into why this misinformation gained traction and offer a somewhat whimsical theory regarding the events of 1917 in Manhattan.
The genesis of this narrative can be traced back to 2003, with the publication of Irene Gammel’s book, “Baroness Elsa Gender, Dada, and Everyday Modernity—A Cultural Biography.” This book delves into the life of the enigmatic Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven, a peculiar and somewhat melancholic figure on the New York scene during the 1910s and ’20s.
“Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven (1874–1927)… an innovator in poetic form and an early creator of junk sculpture, “the Baroness” was best known for her sexually charged, often controversial performances. Some thought her merely crazed, others thought her a genius.”
(https://mitpress.mit.edu/9780262572156/baroness-elsa/)
In November 2014, Julian Spalding and Glyn Thompson’s article “Did Marcel Duchamp Steal Elsa’s Urinal?” in The Art Newspaper amplified certain aspects of Irene Gammel’s work. In their revisionist interpretation, an obvious act of Woke Grifting, these two academics launch a critique of Duchamp’s established legacy. Many others have ‘opportunely’ followed suit, with each successive think piece, editorial, and essay further accepting this tenuous proposal as rock hard fact (e.g. https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/mar/29/marcel-duchamp-fountain-women-art-history). Spalding and Thompson’s central argument hinges on a well-known piece of correspondence from Duchamp to his sister Suzanne. Spalding and Thompson clutch onto this letter as proof that Duchamp deceived the world about the origins of Fountain. What Duchamp wrote was this:
“Tell the family this snippet: the Independents opened here with enormous success. A female friend of mine, using a male pseudonym, Richard Mutt, submitted a porcelain urinal as a sculpture. It wasn’t at all indecent. No reason to refuse it. The committee decided to refuse to exhibit this thing. I handed in my resignation and it’ll be a juicy piece of gossip in New York.”
(https://atlaspress.co.uk/marcel-duchamp-was-not-a-thief/)
Spalding and Thompson seem to overlook the fact that Duchamp was merely sharing with his sister what he wanted his friends to know. The man had a scandal to ignite, thus, preserving his anonymity was paramount.
It is also no secret that Fountain bore an address. Thanks to Alfred Stieglitz, the prominent New York photographer of the time and a close friend of Duchamp, Fountain was photographed before its disappearance (never to be exhibited or seen again). In that photograph is a legible label with the alias, R. Mutt, and an address: 110 West 88th Street. This was, of course, the address of a close friend of Duchamp’s: Louise (then Norton) Varèse. To me, there is no mystery here. Louise, Marcel, and Alfred were collaborators, all in on the joke. In fact Varèse writes about it on two significant ocaasions. The first time alongside Duchamp and Stieglitz for the Dada publication, The Blind Man. She wrote a two page essay describing the controversy of Fountain and the Society of Independent Artists in personal detail, going so far as to state the work challenged notions of what art is, all the while laying a defense of conceptual art itself. (http://sdrc.lib.uiowa.edu/dada/blindman/2/index.htm). The second time was in 1973 for a draft version of a piece for Duchamp’s posthumous survey show and catalogue, Varèse recalls:
“Marcel was more serious in one of his jests than I realised at the time. Co-Founder and member of the Sty. of Independent Artists he helped organise the Independents Show of 1917. There was to be no jury. Any painter’s work would be exhibited on payment of a six-dollar fee. To test the bona fides of the hanging committee he sent in a porcelain urinal which he titled, Fountain by R. Mutt. The committee promptly threw it out, and Marcel, very angry, promptly resigned.”
(https://atlaspress.co.uk/marcel-duchamp-was-not-a-thief/)
And what of the Baroness? There are so many loose ends in Spalding and Thompson’s claim, it is difficult to know where to start. On the question of the address visible in the photo, did the Baronness even know Varèse? How then, could she have known her address? What would be the motivation to go to such lengths to submit this urinal under an assumed name? And from the distance of Philadelphia? Gammel, Spalding, and Thompson’s speculations venture into the realm of whimsy, even so far as suggesting German words may reveal hidden meanings (‘armut’, which sounds kind of like R. Mutt, means poverty in German, or that ‘mutter’, German for mother, sounds like Mutt R.). Importantly, she also never claimed to have made the work prior to her death in 1927. All of their interpretations rest on speculation, lacking any supporting evidence.
As some suggest, it is likely she briefly had a crush on Duchamp, as seen in her Portrait of Marcel Duchamp or her poem Graveyard Surrounding Nunnery (“When I was/ Young—foolish—/ I loved Marcel Dushit”). Spalding and Thompson state repeatedly that Duchamp didn’t claim the artwork, but that is simply false. While at the time of its presentation it lay under an alias, he did claim it later in his life and issued various reproductions over several decades beginning in 1935. Perhaps most importantly, as critic Waldemar Januszczak pointed out, Fountain simply shares nothing stylistically in common with the work of the Baroness, and much with the work of Duchamp; it doesn’t look like she did it! (https://www.theartnewspaper.com/2020/03/04/letters-to-the-editor-or-did-duchamp-really-steal-elsas-urinal)
The underlying issue here is that throughout history, men have often appropriated the work of women and claimed it as their own. This should compel us to reevaluate what we have been taught and to steer clear of such behaviour in the future. We should be questioning the canon, and many desire to rewrite it. That is that gives Spalding and Thompson’s assertion so much staying power, despite a lack of substantial evidence. Unfortunately, Marcel Duchamp is implicated in this narrative, simply because they want to believe it. What adds an odd twist to this tale is there is proof of a woman’s involvement: Varèse’s. Yet because she appears disinterested in receiving credit and viewed herself primarily as an accomplice to a friend, this is rejected as unsatisfactory by opportunist academics.
The irony in all the claims about ‘The Baroness’ is that Louise Varèse was in her own right a remarkable figure in the world of art and literature. She was a multifaceted woman who left an enduring legacy as a writer, editor, and translator, and obviously played a pivotal role in the New York Dada movement. She edited and wrote for an experimental modernist magazine called Rogue. As a translator, she introduced the works of numeorus renowned French writers like Rimbaud and Baudelaire to English-speaking audiences. Her biography of her second husband, the avant-garde composer Edgard Varèse, further evidences her contributions to the cultural landscape, and involvement in ground breaking arts movements. She was amazing in her own right.
It is true, while Louise Varèse’s written statements, friendship with Duchamp and Stieglitz, and the address on the label strongly suggest her involvement, definitive proof of her role in Fountain remains elusive. Perhaps it was a red herring planted by Duchamp to further the anonymity of the project, or maybe Varèse simply allowed him to use her address for logistical reasons. Regardless, this ambiguity underscores the possibility of a more collaborative nature to Fountain‘s creation, a point often overshadowed by the focus on individual authorship.
The story according to me is simple: Duchamp, conceptualist, concocted and then enlisted friends from his community of writers, composers, photographers in New York, to help him execute the first purely conceptual artwork. Why and how else would the most famed photographer in New York city happen to photograph a rejected art work prior to exhibition and its removal? Why else would a writer and translator have her address on this submission? Why would she write a defence and explanation of the work shortly after the incident? It was a collaboration. While that is not as juicy of a story as theft from a strange and sad, overlooked creative; of a man taking from a woman only to have history corrected, it is where the uncontroversial facts point.
Words by Jim Ricks.
Illustrations of Louise Varèse by Charlotte Glez.
What do you think?