Re: I really dont mean to be a pain, sorry gang
Pat, that door thingie was part of an artwork by a Deconstructionist artist of considerable ... hmmmm, this could take a while, let me paste part of a paper I wrote about visiting the Philadelphia Museum of Art (you may know it as the steps that Rocky ran up
)<br /><br />A. Étant Donnés (English title is Given: 1 The Waterfall, 2. The Illuminating Gas)<br />B. 1946 1966<br />C. Marcel Duchamp<br />D. 1887 1968<br />E. Deconstructionist<br />F. Mixed media assemblage: an old wooden door, bricks, velvet, wood, leather stretched on a metal frame, twigs, aluminum, iron, glass, Plexiglas, linoleum, cotton, electric lights, gas lamp, motor, etc <br /><br />The Marcel Duchamp room houses many of his more famous works, such as the enigmatic The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even, (commonly referred to as the Large Glass), which I did not understand at all, but was nevertheless impressed with the scope of the work. His Readymade works were a bit more accessible to me; I delighted in the inventive genius of some of his more audacious works, including a urinal mounted on a box (which I saw as a slam against critics, much like Jasper Johns bespectacled brick, which he calls quite simply The Critic). The bicycle wheel on a stool seemed a bit elemental, but as brevity is the soul of wit, simplicity is the soul of art.<br /> It was this notion of Duchamp as a simplistic artist that was echoing in my mind as I stuck my head into a little unlit, unobtrusive alcove, revealing an old style brick arch over an apparently ancient wooden door, something that on a larger scale might have held back enraged peasants rushing a castle. Thinking that it was some long forgotten room, I stepped closer, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. I was suddenly aware of light behind the door, hmmmm, I hadnt seen that before. I pushed on the door, but it didnt open. I noticed a hole in the door, and peered, or, as Duchamp would have it, peeped in. A brick wall, jagged in it's roughly ovoid opening, framed the scene within. There was a woman, supine on a bough of twigs, with what appeared to be a candle in her hand. She was naked and quite exposed, and I stepped away, feeling very much like a voyeur. The scene was profoundly pornographic, and I was ashamed of myself for feeling that way. The psychologist within me realized thats exactly what Duchamp wants you to feel. As I looked at the door, I realized there were two holes, to allow stereoscopic vision into the tableau. <br /> I must admit, it was discomforting to know that I was being lured back to the visage, much like a fly into a web. I wanted to look back inside; I wanted to see her, almost as if she was real. So realistically was she represented, she became surrealistic. There was no possible way to see her face; I could almost see Duchamp smiling as I furtively attempted to see around the brickwork. Once I stopped peeping and began observing, (this took several peeps) I noticed that the candlestick was lit, and that there was an illuminated waterfall that appeared to be shimmering, as if the water was falling over the precipice. <br /> The woman turned out to be leather stretched over a metal framework, but with the exception of a slight crack on her side, you would swear they had a live model lying within those walls. The brick wall looked a little to me like a v agina as well, (V agina Dentata, real term, dont ask!) As far as all that electrical equipment inside, when I stepped closer to the door, I unknowingly triggered a footplate switch, illuminating the tableau and activating the assorted subsystems. Clearly, a gifted artist, albeit one that was somewhat twisted; but then again, what do you expect from a man whose tombstone reads, at his own request: But it's always someone else who dies.
