I am going to the Museum of Art in Philly. Hucker and i argued long and hard about whether I should got to see Wharton Esherwicks house and gallery, which is a short drive away, or go and see the Duchamps at the Museum. Marcel Duchamp has been given a position of prominence as the father of conceptual art. Art of the mind, art of language and intelligence.
Philly has the worlds largest collection of Duchamp, holding all his major pieces displayed together in one room. I have known the Nude Descending a Staircase and the Large Glass since I was a student and I badly wanted to experience the real thing.
To get there you have to climb “Rocky steps “ Now its a sad thing to say but more people do Rocky steps than do the museum but hey! So, I am 65 its 22 degrees I am wearing an overcoat and, well, you guess the rest. What i would not do was pay the guy at the top to take my photo, but i did it!
When I get there I make straight for the room. The large glass is a disappointment having deteriorated badly Duchamp is no craftsman. The Nude has gone the opposite way across the atlantic being loaned to Paris
While I was there a large group of unquestioning students was being addressed by a young lecturer. He was telling how one particular work here by Duchamp signaled the end of all art. How, our culture accepts a urinal signed by Duchamp as art, so we are accepting that anything not just CAN be art, but IS ART.
The Museum of Art in Philadelphia clearly has a lot to answer for. By placing a piss pot in a gallery they bring to an end a history that began scratching images on the wall of caves thousands of years ago. A history of visual expression and emotional response. All with a purpose of making greater sense of who we are. Now Ended.
This is of course Utter Tosh!
Meanwhile. The Art Market, the second largest unregulated market, after the sale of heroine, can rumble profitably on. The last thing they need is genuine critical attention. After all, money is being made here.
This nonsense is fueled by language. I suggest we give this twaddle no further oxygen in which to exist . Say not another word. Shtum, Zippo, Nothing, Nada..
