To Be "Bien Pensant"... or Not to Be.

To Be Blind
Author(s): Marcel Broodthaers and Paul Schmidt
Source: October, Vol. 42, Marcel Broodthaers: Writings, Interviews, Photographs (Autumn, 1987)
, p. 35
Published by: MIT Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/778263
Accessed: 15-02-2016 11:40 UTC

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 To be bien pensant . . . or not
to be. To be blind.

MARCEL BROODTHAERS

translatedby PAUL SCHMIDT

What is Art?Ever since the nineteenthcenturythe questionhas been posed

incessantlyto the artist,to the museumdirector,to the art loveralike. I doubt, in
fact,that it is possible to give a serious definitionof Art, unless we examine the
question in termsof a constant,I mean the transformation of art into merchan-
dise. This process is accelerated nowadays to the point where artisticand com-
mercial values have become superimposed. If we are concerned with the phe-
nomenon of reification, then Art is a particular representation of the
phenomenon-a formof tautology.We could thenjustifyit as affirmation, and
at the same time carve out for it a dubious existence. We would then have to
consider what such a definitionmightbe worth. One fact is certain: commen-
tarieson Art are the resultof shiftsin the economy. It seems doubtfulto us that
such commentariescan be described as political.
Art is a prisonerof itsphantasmsand itsfunctionas magic; it hangs on our
bourgeois walls as a sign of power, it flickersalong the peripetiesof our history
like a shadow-play--but is it artistic?To read the Byzantine writingon the
subject remindsus of the sex of angels, of Rabelais, or of debates at the Sor-
bonne. At the moment,inopportunelinguisticinvestigationsall end in a single
gloss, which its authors like to call criticism. Art and literature . . . which of the
moon's faces is hidden?And how manyclouds and fleetingvisionsthere are.
I have discoverednothinghere, not even America. I choose to considerArt
as a useless labor, apolitical and of littlemoral significance.Urged on by some
base inspiration,I confessI would experience a kindof pleasure at being proved
wrong. A guiltypleasure, since it would be at the expense of the victims,those
who thoughtI was right.
Monsieurde la Palice is one of mycustomers.*He loves novelties,and he,
who makesotherpeople laugh, findsmyalphabet a pretextforhisown laughter.
My alphabet is painted.
All of thisis quite obscure. The reader is invitedto enterintothisdarkness
to decipher a theoryor to experience feelingsof fraternity, those feelingsthat
unite all men, and particularlythe blind.

1975

* Monsieurde la Palice is the characterof a Frenchfolksong who pronouncestruisms.A typical

lapalissade would be "Two hours before his death, he was stillalive."--ed.

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