Of course the fully American attitude of the partisans of LeDuff, that there is nothing except America, is evident here in the apparently fair evaluation of the protagonists which is in fact deeply biased in the direction of their native land. The manifestation of Mr. Ring-wood Paul in your most recent number, wherein he points out (correctly) that the asterisks of LeDuff are six-pointed versus the asterisks of Bruno which have uniformly five points, is not a “knockout blow.” In claiming severe plastic originality for LeDuff on this score, Mr. Paul only displays the thickness of entrenched opinion. It is easy, once one has “borrowed” a concept from another artist, to add a little small improvement, but it is not so easy to put it back again without anyone noticing! Finally, the assertion of the estimable critic (American again, we understand!) Paula Marx that the moirè effect achieved by both Bruno and LeDuff by the superimposition of many asterisks on many other asterisks is an advancement created by LeDuff alone and then adduced by Bruno, is flatly false. Must we use carbon-dating on these recent peintures to establish truth, as if we were archeologists faced with an exhausted culture? No, there are living persons among us who remember. To support this affair with references to the “idealism” of the œuvre of LeDuff is the equivalent of saying, “Yes, mostly his shirts are clean.” But the clean shirt of LeDuff conceals that which can only throw skepticism on this œuvre.
Bernardo BROWN
H. L. AKEFELDT
Galerie Z
Milan
SIRS:
The whole thing is to make me smile. What do these Americans want? They come over here and everyone installs them in the best hotels with lavish napery, but still, complaints of every kind. Profiting unduly from the attentions of rich bourgeois, they then emplane once again for America, richer and thoughtful of coming again to again despoil our bourgeois. Doug LeDuff is a pig and a child, but so are his enemies.
Pino VITT
Rome
CARO NIKKI—
May I point out the facility of the LeDuff-Galerie Z debate that you have allowed to discolor your pages for many months now? Whether or not you were admirable in your decision to accept for publication the Galerie Z advertisings defaming LeDuff (whom I personally feel to be a monger of dampish wallpaper) is not for me to state, although you were clearly incredible, good faith notwithstanding. I can only indicate, from the womb of history, that both LeDuff and Bruno have impersonated the accomplishments of the Magdeburg Handwerker (May 14,1938).
Hugo TIMME
Düsseldorf
SIRS:
The members of the SURFACE Group (Basel) are unfalteringly supportive of the immense American master, Doug LeDuff.
Gianni ARNAN
Michel PIK
Zin REGALE
Erik ZORN
Basel
EDITORE (if any)
Shock Art
MILANO
The most powerful international interests of the gallery-critic-collector cartel have only to gain by the obfuscations of the LeDuff-Galerie Z bickerings. How come you have ignored Elaine Grasso, whose work of now many years in the field of parentheses is entirely propos?
Magda BAUM
Rotterdam
SIRS:
Shock Art is being used unforeseeably in this affair. The asterisk has a long provenance and is neither the formulation of LeDuff nor of Bruno either, in any case. The asterisk (from the Greek asteriskos or small star) presents itself in classical mythology as the sign which Hera, enraged by yet another of Zeus’s manifold infidelities, placed on the god’s brow while he slept, to remind him when he gazed in the mirror in the morning that he should be somewhere else. I plead with you, Sig. Pont, to publish my letter, so that people will know.
G. PHILIOS
Athens
CARO PONT,
It was kind of you to ask me to comment on the good fight you are making in your magazine. A poor critic is not often required to consult on these things, even though he may have much better opinions than those who are standing in the middle, because of his long and careful training in ignoring the fatigues of passionate involvement—if he has it!
Therefore, calmly and without prejudice toward either party, let us examine the issues with an unruffled eye. LeDuff’s argument (in Shock Art #37) that an image, once floated on the international art-sea, is a fish that anyone may grab with impunity, and make it his own, would not persuade an oyster. Questions of primacy are not to be scumbled in this way, which, had he been writing from a European perspective, he would understand, and be ashamed. The brutality of the American rape of the world’s exhibition spaces and organs of art-information has distanciated his senses. The historical aspects have been adequately trodden by others, but there is one category yet to be entertained—that of the psychological. The fact that LeDuff is replicated in every museum, in every journal, that one cannot turn one’s gaze without bumping into this raw plethora, LeDuff, LeDuff, LeDuff (whereas poor Bruno, the true progenitor, is eating the tops of bunches of carrots)—what has this done to LeDuff himself? It has turned him into a dead artist, but the corpse yet bounces in its grave, calling attentions toward itself in the most unseemly manner. But truth cannot be swallowed forever. When the real story of low optical stimulus is indited, Bruno will be rectified.
Titus Toselli DOLLA
Palermo
Great Days
WHEN I was a little girl I made mud pies, dangled strings down crayfish holes hoping the idiot crayfish would catch hold and allow themselves to be hauled into the light. Snarled and cried, ate ice cream and sang “How High the Moon.” Popped the wings off crickets and floated stray Scrabble pieces in ditch water. All perfect and ordinary and perfect. —Featherings of case and bliss.
—I was preparing myself. Getting ready for the great day.
—Icy day with salt on all the sidewalks.
—Sketching attitudes and forming pretty speeches.
—Pitching pennies at a line scraped in the dust.
—Doing and redoing my lustrous abundant hair.
—Man down. Center and One Eight.
—Tied flares to my extremities and wound candy canes into my lustrous, abundant hair. Getting ready for the great day.
—For I do not deny that I am a little out of temper.
—Glitches in the system as yet unapprehended.
—Oh that clown band. Oh its sweet strains.
—Most excellent and dear friend. Who the silly season’s named for.
—My demands were not met. One, two, three, four.
—I admire your dash and address. But regret your fear and prudence.
—Always worth making the effort, always.
—Yes that’s something we do. Our damnedest. They can’t take that away from us.
—The Secretary of State cares. And the Secretary of Commerce.
—Yes they’re clued in. We are not unprotected. Soldiers and policemen.
—Man down. Corner of Mercer and One Six.
—Paying lots of attention. A clear vision of what can and can’t be done.
—Progress extending far into the future. Dams and aqueducts. The amazing strength of the powerful.
—Organizing our deepest wishes as a mother foresightedly visits a store that will be closed tomorrow.
—Friendship’s the best thing.
—One of the best things. One of the very best.
—I performed in a hall. Alone under the burning lights.
—The hall ganged with admiring faces. Except for a few.
—Julia was there. Rotten Julia.
—But I mean you really like her don’t you?
—Well I mean who doesn’t like violet eyes?
—Got to make the effort, scratch where it itches, plans, schemes, directives, guidelines.
—Well I mean who doesn’t like frisky knees?
—Yes she’s lost her glow. Gone utterly.
—The strains of the city working upon an essentially nonurban sensibility.
—But I lov
e the city and will not hear it traduced.
—Well, me too. But after all. But still.
—Think Julia’s getting it on with Bally.
—Yeah I heard about that he’s got a big mouth.
—But handsome hipbones got to give him that.
—I remember, I can feel them still, pressing into me as they once did on hot afternoons and cool nights and feverish first-thing-in-the-mornings.
—Yes, Bally is a regal memory for everyone.
—My best ghost. The one I think about, in bitter times and good.
—Trying to get my colors together. Trying to play one off against another. Trying for cancellation.
—I respect your various phases. Your sweet, even discourse.
—I spent some time away and found everyone there affable, gentle, and good.
—Nonculminating kind of ultimately affectless activity.
—Which you mime so gracefully in auditoria large and small.
—And yet with my really wizard! good humor and cheerful thoughtless mien, I have caused a lot of trouble.
—I suppose that’s true. Strictly speaking.
—Bounding into the woods on all fours barking like a mother biting at whatever moves in front of me—
—Do you also save string?
—On my free evenings and paid holidays. Making the most of the time I have here on this earth. Knotting, sewing, weaving, welding.
—Naming babies, Lou, Lew, Louis.
—And his toes, wonderful toes, that man has got toes.
—Decorated with rings and rubber bands.
—Has a partiality for white. White gowns, shifts, aprons, flowers, sauces.
—He was a salty dog all right. Salty dog.
—I was out shooting with him once, pheasant, he got one, with his fancy shotgun. The bird bursting like an exploding pillow.
—Have to stand there and watch them, their keen eyes scanning the whatever. And then say “Good shot!”
—Oh I could have done better, better, I was lax.
—Or worse, don’t fret about it, could have put your cute little butt in worse places, in thrall to dismaler personalities.
—I was making an effort. What I do best.
—You are excellent at it. Really first-rate.
—Never fail to knock myself out. Put pictures on the walls and pads under the rugs.
—I really admire you. I really do. To the teeth. —Bust your ass, it’s the only way.
—As we learn from studying the careers of all the great figures of the past. Heraclitus and Launcelot du Lac.
—Polish the doorknobs with Brasso and bring in the sea bass in its nest of seaweed.
—And not only that. And not only that.
—Tickling them when they want to be tickled. Abstaining, when they do not.
—Large and admirable men. Not neglecting the small and ignoble. Dealing evenhandedly with every situation on a case-by-case basis.
—Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.
—Knew a guy wore his stomach on his sleeve. I dealt with the problem using astrology in its medical aspects. His stomach this, his stomach that, God Almighty but it was tiresome, tiresome in the extreme. I dealt with it by using astrology in its medical aspects.
—To each his own. Handmade bread and individual attention.
—You’ve got to have something besides yourself. A cat, too often.
—I could have done better but I was dumb. When you’re young you’re sometimes dumb.
—Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah. I remember.
—Well let’s have a drink.
—Well I don’t mind if I do.
—I have Goldwasser, Bombay gin, and Old Jeb.
—Well I wouldn’t mind a Scotch myself.
—I have that too.
—Growing older and with age, less beautiful.
—Yeah I’ve noticed that. Losing your glow.
—Just gonna sit in the wrinkling house and wrinkle. Get older and worse.
—Once you lose your glow you never get it back.
—Sometimes by virtue of the sun on a summer’s day.
—Wrinkling you so that you look like a roast turkey.
—As is the case with the Oni of Ife. Saw him on television.
—Let me show you this picture.
—Yes that’s very lovely. What is it?
—It’s Vulcan and Maia.
—Yes. He’s got his hooks into her. She’s struggling to get away.
—Vigorously? Vigorously. Yes.
—Who’s the artist?
—Spranger.
—Never heard of him.
—Well.
—Yes, you may hang it. Anywhere you like. On that wall or that wall or that wall. —Thank you.
—Probably I can get ahead by working hard, paying attention to detail.
—I thought that. Once I thought that.
—Reading a lot of books and having good ideas.
—Well that’s not bad. I mean it’s a means.
—Do something wonderful. I don’t know what.
—Like a bass player plucking the great thick strings of his instrument with powerful plucks.
—Blood vessels bursting in my face just under the skin all the while.
—Hurt by malicious criticisms all very well grounded.
—Washing and rewashing my lustrous, abundant hair.
—For Leatherheart, I turn my back. My lustrous, abundant back.
—That cracks them up does it?
—At least they know I’m in town.
—Ease myself into bed of an evening brain jumping with hostile fluids.
—It’s greens in a pot.
—It’s confetti in the swimming pool.
—It’s U-joints in the vichyssoise.
—It’s staggers under the moon.
—He told me terrible things in the evening of that day as we sat side by side waiting for the rain to wash the watercolors from his watercolor paper. Waiting for the rain to wash the paper clean, quite clean.
—Took me by the hand and led me through all the rooms. Many rooms.
—I know all about it.
—The kitchen is especially splendid.
—Quite so.
—A dozen Filipinos with trays.
—Close to that figure.
—Trays with edibles. Wearables. Readables. Collectibles.
—Ah, you’re a fool. A damned fool.
—Goodbye, madame. Dip if you will your hand in the holy-water font as you leave, and attend as well to the poor box just to the right of the door.
—Figs and kiss-mc-nots. I would meet you upon this honestly.
—I went far beyond the time normally allotted for a speaker. Far.
—In Mexico City. Wearing the black jacket with the silver conchos. And trousers of fire pink.
—Visited a health club there, my rear looked like two pocket-books, they worked on it.
—You were making an effort.
—Run in the mornings too, take green tea at noon, study household management, finance, repair of devices.
—Born with a silver hoe in your mouth.
—Yes. Got to get going, got to make some progress.
—Followed by development of head banging in the child.
—I went far beyond the time normally allotted to, or for, a speaker. It is fair to say they were enthralled. And transfixed. Inappropriate laughter at some points but I didn’t mind that.
—Did the Eminence arrive?
—In a cab. In his robes of scarlet.
—He does a tough Eminence.
—Yes very tough. I was allowed to kiss the ring. He sat there, in the audience, just like another member of the audience. Just like anybody. Transfixed and enthralled.
—Whirling and jiggling in the red light and throwing veils on the floor and throwing gloves on the floor—
—One of my finest. They roared for ten minutes.
—I am so proud of you. Again and again. Proud of you.
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—Oh well, yes. I agree. Quite right. Absolutely.
—What? Are you sure? Are you quite sure? Let me show you this picture.
—Yes that’s quite grand. What is it?
—It’s Tancred Succored by Ermina.
—Yes she’s sopping up the blood there, got a big rag, seems a sweet girl, God he’s out of it isn’t he, dead or dying horse at upper left Who’s the artist?
—Ricchi.
—Never heard of him. —Well.
—I’ll take it. You may stack it with the others, against that wall or that wall or that wall—
—Thank you. Where shall I send the bill?
—Send it anywhere you like. Anywhere your little heart desires.
—Well I hate to be put in this position. Bending and subservient.
—Heavens! I’d not noticed. Let me raise you up.
—Maybe in a few days. A few days or a few years.
—Lave you with bee jelly and bone oil.
—And if I have ever forgiven you your astonishing successes—
—Mine.
—And if I have ever been able to stomach your serial triumphs—
—The sky. A rectangle of gray in the foreground and behind that, a rectangle of puce. And behind that, a square of silver gilt.
—Got to get it together, get the big bucks.
—Yes I’m thinking hard, thinking hard.
—Frolic and detour.
—What’s that mean?
—I don’t know just a bit of legal language I picked up somewhere.
—Now that I take a long look at you—
—In the evening by the fireside—
—I find you utterly delightful. Abide with me. We’ll have little cakes with smarm, yellow smarm on them—
—Yes I just feel so fresh and free here. One doesn’t feel that way every day, or every week.
—Last night at two the barking dog in the apartment above stopped barking. Its owners had returned. I went into the kitchen and barked through the roof for an hour. I believe I was understood.
—Man down. Corner of Water and Eight Nine.
—Another wallow?
—I’ve wallowed for today thank you. Control is the thing. —Control used to be the thing. Now, abandon.
Forty Stories (Penguin Twentieth Century Classics) Page 22
