Photo: A museum replica of the artwork entitled “Fountain”, submitted to the ‘First Annual Exhibition’ hosted by the Society of Independent Artists. The New York exhibition ran from April 10 through May 6, 1917.
108 years ago, to the day, the ‘First Annual Exhibition’ of the Society of Independent Artists invited the New York public into an exhibition hall for their event’s final day, May 6.
The public was not allowed to view one particular piece of art… a mass-produced ceramic appliance, entitled Fountain and was signed by the artist: “R. Mutt, 1917”.
The New York exhibition featured no jury or prizes, and was open to anyone who wanted to display their art, if they paid for a six-dollar membership in the Society, and the entry fee. Almost 2,500 works of art were included in show, hung in alphabetical order according to the artist’s name.
Although R. Mutt had paid the requisite fees, the Society placed the submitted art piece behind a partition where no one could see it.
The piece had been delivered to the exhibition hall by avant-garde artist Marcel Duchamp, one of the Society’s board members, and he subsequently resigned from the board in reaction to the treatment of R. Mutt’s submission.
Exactly what I would have done. The nerve! To take an artist’s money, and then hide their art behind a partition? Shameful.
But in a certain sense — and despite the disgraceful treatment by the Society’s board of directors — the artist had the last laugh, and that laughter has lasted 108 years. In fact, I’m laughing as I write this essay.
In 2004, a survey of 500 art experts chose Fountain to be “modern art’s most influential work” in the run-up to the Turner Prize, an annual prize presented by the Tate Gallery in London.
Exactly what I would have chosen, had I been surveyed. No one surveyed me, of course, and I certainly can’t claim to be an expert on modern art, but I know art when I see it.
R. Mutt had not created this graceful ceramic sculpture, however. It had been purchased, ready-made, from a plumbing supply, most likely in Philadelphia.
Why Philadelphia, one might ask? That’s where the story gets interesting.
Marcel Duchamp wrote, in a letter to his sister Suzanne dated April 11, 1917:
Une de mes amies sous un pseudonyme masculin, Richard Mutt, avait envoyé une pissotière en porcelaine comme sculpture.
Translated from the French:
“One of my female friends, under a masculine pseudonym, Richard Mutt, sent in a porcelain urinal as a sculpture.”
One of Marcel Duchamp’s female friends was avant-garde artist Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven. According to historical research by Glyn Thompson, the only commercial outlet, in 1917, for the particular porcelain apparatus in question was in Philadelphia.
Beside being an artist, Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven happened to be a Baroness, and was living in Philadelphia. Baroness von Freytag-Loringhoven also had a fascination with plumbing, both human and mechanical, and an affinity for visual and performance art that one could easily label as “naughty”.
For example, in 1917, she had created a large sculpture made of industrial drain pipes, entitled, God.
As one might guess from her name, and her inclinations, the Baroness was German. And as mentioned, she lived in Philadelphia.
Her friend, Marcel Duchamp, was French, and lived in New York.
The artist signature on the Fountain sculpture was “R. Mutt”, which means nothing in particular, in French. But it can be interpreted (if we are so inclined) as a reference the German word “Armut” which means “Poverty”.
As in:
Eine wissenschaftliche Auseinandersetzung mit Armut kann nicht umhin vorab eine Klärung des Begriffs vorzunehmen…
“A scientific examination of poverty cannot avoid defining the term in advance…”
Something we all can agree with, I suspect. Once it’s translated into English.
I’m not trying to imply that Fountain was meant as a scientific examination of poverty. It was basically an interesting porcelain shape, immediately identifiable as a utilitarian object that did not belong in an art exhibit. But then, an artist signed and dated it, so what can you do?
Following the 1917 exhibition, and for the rest of his life, Marcel Duchamp consistently gave the impression that he was the artist who had selected the porcelain object, and signed it as “R. Mutt”. Based on that claim, he has been credited, in a survey of 500 art experts, as the creator of what is now considered to be “modern art’s most influential work.”
But as we all know, behind every great man there’s a woman. Most likely, a German woman, with a fascination for plumbing.
I agree with the assessment that Fountain — presented as a work of art in a New York exhibition 108 years ago — completely altered our modern understanding of what art is, and what it is not. We might say that Fountain taught us — finally —that “art” exists as a conceptual self-contradiction, being “art” and “not art” simultaneously.
Most importantly, however, it transformed every men’s restroom into an art gallery.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all. You can read more stories on his Substack account.