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Marcel Broodthaers Artworks

Belgian Conceptual Artist, Filmmaker and Poet

Marcel Broodthaers Photo
Movements and Styles: Conceptual Art, Institutional Critique

Born: January 28, 1924 - Brussels, Belgium

Died: January 28, 1976 - Cologne, Germany

Artworks by Marcel Broodthaers

The below artworks are the most important by Marcel Broodthaers - that both overview the major creative periods, and highlight the greatest achievements by the artist.

La Clef de l'Horloge: Poème Cinématographique en l'Honneur de Kurt Schwitters (The Key to the Clock: Cinematographic Poem in Honor of Kurt Schwitters) (1957)

Broodthaers decided to become an artist full-time in 1964, but he experimented before then with various media - most significantly, film, to which he returned repeatedly throughout his subsequent career. In Broodthaers' films, he reveals his inner playfulness even more so than in his other works, and La Clef de l'Horloge, made in 1957, hints at this. Its creation is the result of an after-hours shoot of an exhibition of Kurt Schwitters' work at the Palais des Beaux-Arts in Brussels (Broodthaers was only able to gain access with the assistance of the night guards). Broodthaers focuses closely on fragments of Schwitters' works, in many cases collages, where Schwitters has removed excerpts of material from advertisements, labels, and other commercial packaging - usually featuring numbers and letters - and recast them in a nearly-nonsensical context akin to Dada works. The narration at the beginning of La Clef de l'Horloge consists of a man describing the works, noting that Schwitters was the inventor of "Merz" art - a combination of the contemporary influences of commercialism and the disruptive nature of Dada. It then shifts to the recitation of a love poem, fitting because Schwitters himself was a poet, like Broodthaers. Much of the spoken words in the film are recorded over the tick-tock of a clock, suggesting the passage of time.

La Clef de l'Horloge thus not only highlights some of the influences on Broodthaers, but also touches on themes that would emerge significantly in his later work. Its nearly "homemade" quality - Broodthaers had to balance his camera on the shoulders of one of the guards and rely on a torch for light - echoes both the materials used in Schwitters' work and later, Broodthaers' own pieces - shells, postcards, patio furniture, for example. It is implicitly a critique of the museum itself and public access to art, with institutional rules about viewing hours, proper lighting and display, and even security of its spaces. Finally, with his "after-hours" viewing, Broodthaers thus gives the public viewer of the film an arguably even-more-privileged view of the exhibition than the social elite of the museum's patrons - in literally a completely different light, no less.

Pense-Bête (Memory Aid) (1964)

In 1964, Broodthaers tried his hand at visual art by taking unsold copies of his latest volume of poetry, titled Pense-Bête, and encasing them sloppily in a mix of plaster and other materials. As his first "official" piece, Pense-Bête set the tone for the rest of Broodthaers' artistic output, including his pursuit of preserving ideas of experience. Here, he takes his "failed" poetry - which didn't sell - and converts it into something new that actually was considered to be successful, worthy of preservation.

Broodthaers' attempt with this work was to transform the refined poetry to which he had dedicated himself into an aesthetically "ugly" object. The conversion accomplishes two ends: it reveals the absence of a link between either hard work or beauty and eventual success, and it recontextualizes his past experience as a writer into something else entirely - into a form whereby his words would be preserved, rather than forgotten. Ironically, therefore, his polished verses had to be degraded into a "mess" in order to be positively received.

In a way, Pense-Bête showed Broodthaers mocking both his own history and his fellow contemporary artists. There is a certain humor in the fact that the title refers to the means by which his apparently forgettable poetry would become memorable. The rather haphazard way in which the plaster and ordinary materials are applied to the volumes of text pokes fun at the usually careful nature of the construction of artworks as a product of great technical skill. The title also contains a bit of humor in its translation as "Memory Aid," yet the conglomeration of materials grouped around the books do not immediately remind the viewer of anything specific and remain ambiguous as a referent. The transformation of the original poetry, meanwhile, does not make the text of the poetry itself any more memorable - it only achieves lasting fame as a piece of a larger work.

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Un jardin d'hiver II (A winter garden II) (1974)

One of Broodthaers' running themes in his work is the idea of an installation as a movie set. This piece, the second in his Un Jardin d'Hiver series, approximates the interior setting reminiscent of colonial-era Palm Courts, a decision that references two historical circumstances. More generally, Broodthaers alludes to the display of artwork in cultural institutions as a staged gathering place for an economic and social elite to voyeuristically view the experience and life of the "other" - either the lower-class subjects of art or the pedestrian artists themselves - a move possibly influenced by Broodthaers' own longtime experience as a starving, aspiring writer. On a more specific level, the use of palm trees and selection of decorative imagery is a direct link to Belgium's pre-1960 colonization of Africa - where an elite European culture exploited the so-called "primitive" civilizations and cultures of the Congo.

Broodthaers adds complexity to the piece, however, by incorporating part of his other artwork in the installation. In Un Jardin d'hiver II, he shows a film recording the installation of Un Jardin d'hiver I, displayed earlier that same year, thereby making the staging of a previous work part of the staging of this work. As such, Jardin d'hiver II is only "complete" and fully experienced while the film of Jardin d'hiver I is being played. Jardin d'hiver II thus not only emphasizes process, but could be said to exist itself only as process and only for the duration that Jardin d'hiver I is being played in the installation.

Jardin d'hiver II places the viewer in the position of the elite empirically viewing the work of the proletarian artist. Broodthaers' work - and literally, the work of installing it - is on display for the pleasure of the viewer. Broodthaers thus equates his own condition (a struggling artist whose work exists for consumption by a social elite) with the residents of the Congo, formerly colonized and plundered for the pleasure of Belgians. But in Jardin d'hiver II, he inverts the power dynamic, as the audience is unable to stop the rolling of the film, and arguably is uncomfortably conflated with this exploitative contemporary and historical viewing elite. Likewise, in his references to the Congo, Broodthaers acknowledges the products of the region's residents as works of art, and by extension, insists upon broader recognition of their cultural importance and value - an honor systematically denied to them by Europeans.

La Salle blanche [The White Room] (1975)

The initial purpose of La Salle blanche was to be a recreation of the apartment-studio where Broodthaers had inaugurated his Musée d'art moderne in Brussels in 1969. He hired a group of carpenters and fabricators, but during construction changed his mind and instead declared that it was simply a recreation of the typical bourgeois interior; the absence of a color scheme on the walls speaks to the "generic" nature of the setting (and possibly the spare, austerity of the existence of a starving artist or writer, like Broodthaers during the first 40 years of his life). Broodthaers instead covered the walls with words related to the creation and understanding of art: "gallery," "collectors," "color," "perspective," "amateur," "shadow," "paper," etc.

Broodthaers' purpose is to critique the traditional means of experiencing art. Instead of placing framed images on the walls, as one would expect in this space, the concept of art is evoked through language painted on the interior surfaces by traditional workmen. Literally, therefore, Broodthaers has "installed" art in the constructed space, which itself can be dismantled and re-erected in any accommodating location, just as a painting or sculpture can be hung or set up as desired. Broodthaers also fuses his past experience as a poet with his current occupation as a visual artist, forcing the viewer not to approach the words on the walls in pre-arranged sentences, like directed prose, but to engage with the syntax and aesthetics of the words' arrangement in a more playful and haphazard manner. Furthermore, Broodthaers is implicitly arguing for the dissolution of the boundary between art and life, as the space in La Salle Blanche is understood as the construction of a residence, and is covered entirely in the words evoking artistic creation and display. The occupant/viewer is thus unable to escape this association no matter where his gaze is turned. Finally, Broodthaers asks us to consider the question of authorship in the creation of the work, as his ideas and directions for its realization were carried out only through other hands. The art here is less the actual craftsmanship as it is the conception behind its construction - as is often the case in much of Conceptual Art.

Décor: A Conquest (XIXth and XXth Century Rooms) (1975)

Created for the inauguration of the Institute of Contemporary Art in London (UK), Broodthaers' two "decor" rooms representing the 19th and 20th century show his engagement with a complex network of themes, including language, memory, and the boundary between reality and a staged or invented experience. The idea of the "period room" itself involves a space that acts as a repository for items that most vividly remind us of the past. But rather than simply evoke the idea of an interior from these two centuries, Broodthaers attempts to illustrate the full range of human experience from these respective eras. The high-backed upholstered chairs, chandeliers, and plants in the 19th-century room, for example, are juxtaposed with period cannons, a taxidermied snake and old revolvers, all afforded their own artificial grass "podiums" - as if to say that war and encounters with the exotic were as much a part of the century's human condition as the furnishings. Likewise, in the 20th-century room, the plastic lawn furniture includes a table on which rests a jigsaw puzzle of a print depicting the 19th-century Battle of Waterloo (A British victory ending the Napoleonic Wars which, incidentally, took place on Belgian soil). Nearby sits a rack with modern high-powered weaponry, indicating how our understandings of furnishings and war have been transformed, and arguably the incomplete puzzle refers to the difficulty of piecing together an understanding of the past.

In both rooms, a commercial film light stands guard, letting viewers know that this isn't a real space - but one recontextualized as a backdrop. (Décor, the work's title, can be translated from French as either "decoration" or "film set.") The latter references both the way that period rooms constitute an artificial staging of a past reality, but also literally to the fact that these spaces served as the set for Broodthaers' own film Battle of Waterloo, filmed during the ICA inaugural exhibition. Additionally, Broodthaers uses humor - a lobster and a crab sitting at a table playing cards, and a cannonball covered in flowers - to underscore the break between reality and staging.

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Cercle de Moules [Circle of Mussels] (1966)

Many of Broodthaers' major works from the beginning of his artistic career in the mid-1960s engaged with questions of national identity. Mussels, often considered the Belgian national dish, became an ideal subject matter for confronting this theme. His use of mussel shells only means that he favors the organic detritus, versus the actual consumable portion - thus, the remnants in the discard pile instead of the valuable meat. Yet, Broothaers has saved the shells and preserved them by permanently attaching them to the panel and coating them with resin. He then hangs the panel on the wall just like a painting, thereby elevating the so-called trash to the status of high art. Like in Pense-Bête, Broodthaers' recontextualization of a pile of throwaway items has allowed him to recast them as culturally significant.

Broodthaers is also playing with language, since "moule" can be translated from French as "mussel" (when feminine) or "mold" (masculine). In this sense, Broodthaers arguably references the sense of diversity within Belgium's national identity. Since Belgium has been a multilingual and multiethnic nation from its creation in 1830, the notion of Belgianness is difficult to fit into a conceptual mold. The subtle differences between each mussel shell suggest such diversity, while the circumscribing of the work within a preconceived, arbitrary circular shape hints at the imposed national geographic boundaries of Belgium with little regard for ethnic variance and identity - hence a kind of absurdity in the country's very existence.

Musée d'Art Moderne [Museum of Modern Art] (1968-1972)

Perhaps no work shows Broodthaers' willingness to place himself and his experiences into the historical canon - on his own terms - than his Musée d'Art Moderne. Developed and displayed over a four-year period, the work took on different iterations in the form of "exhibitions," which used found objects, written words, and other re-appropriated media to make a "museum" that was unlike any other cultural institution. In a sense, this work laid the groundwork for the conceptual art movement that would come later in the century.

The impetus for the Musée d'Art Moderne was the occupation of the Palais des Beaux-Arts by artists in Brussels in May 1968, in which Broodthaers, as one of the occupation's leaders, condemned the commercialization of art. He decided to use the opportunity to critique the very nature of the museum itself, transforming the space in his apartment in Brussels into a temporary exhibition that would last for exactly one year, beginning on September 27, 1968. This initial incarnation of Broodthaers' "museum" consisted of the "Department of Eagles, 19th-Century Section," wherein Broodthaers mounted postcards of 19th-century artworks using imagery of eagles on his walls. He painted signage saying "Museum" on his windows, labeled individual rooms as numbered "galleries" and included descriptive placards for the artworks. He even opened the exhibition with a buffet featuring speeches by himself and Dr. Johannes Claedders, director of the modern art museum in Monchengladbach, a supporter of his work. Over the next four years, Broodthaers expanded his Musée - and thus critique of the institution of museums - with the creation of his "Financial Section," attempting to sell his own institution in the face of bankruptcy, but no buyers were found. The following year, he augmented the "Financial Section" by selling gold bars stamped with eagles - the museum's symbol, and an emblem of power and victory - at twice the metal's market price (due to its "artistic value"). In 1972 he was invited by the Kunsthalle Düsseldorf to create the "Figures Section," which expanded the original Department of Eagles to a historical, cross-cultural retrospective of nearly 300 two and three-dimensional objects all bearing an image of the bird. The Musée was intended from the start to be moveable and reinstalled in alternate locations.

The Musée d'Art Moderne engages with a multitude of issues surrounding art institutions such as power and money. Broodthaers' questions the formality of the museum with the impromptu nature of his construction of the institution, its ability to be dismounted and reassembled, the absence of a permanent collection, the wholesale display of mechanical reproductions of traditional artworks - which itself also critiqued the very nature of what constitutes art - and the very names of the museum's divisions (no traditional museum includes a "Department of Eagles"). His choice of the eagle for the museum's symbol and thematic device allowed him to reexamine its multitude of meanings: power and strength when employed by government agencies, but also solitude and independence when compared to other birds. With the creation of the Financial Section, Broodthaers even contradicted himself in his declaration that the Musée requested monetary support through the sale of its collections, even though his stated inspiration for creating the Musée was a protest against the commercial aspects of art.

Related Artists and Major Works

Un Chien Andalou (1929)

Artist: Luis Buñuel

This silent short film, inspired by the dreams of Buñuel and Salvador Dalí, fulfills the Surrealist goal of achieving the pure automatism of the dream state, liberated from the constraints of reason, logic, traditional narrative, and temporal unity.

Un Chien Andalou shocks at multiple levels, showing acts of irrational physical violence, raw sexual desire, rotting animal carcasses, insects, and a complete violation of the fundamental rules of logical plot. In his Poetics, the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle had written that a work of literature or drama must consist of actions that arise logically out of each other, as well as preserve a unity of time and place. These rules of plot structure had dominated Western literature and theatre for centuries. But from the beginning, as they worked on their script at Dalí's home in Cadaques, Buñuel and Dalí agreed that nothing about the film could have a rational explanation. The resulting film has no narrative or linear logic. Skipping arbitrarily through time, "eight years later" and "sixteen years earlier," the film mocks and subverts the "title cards" that were used in silent movies to fill in temporal and narrative breaks.

There is no core narrative, although, if there is a constant at all in the film, it is an agonizing sense of sexual desire and sexual failure. Several of the film's images are among the most disturbing ever produced in the history of cinema: a razor slicing through a passive woman's eyeball, ants crawling out of an open wound on a hand, a woman's armpit hair turning into a man's beard, and many more. In the final scene, the romantic image of a happy couple cuts to an image of the same man and woman buried in the sand, the positions of their bodies or inclined heads reminiscent of Jean-François Millet's famous painting of 1859, The Angelus.

Both Buñuel and Dalí dismissed any attempts at analysis or rational meaning. Dalí wrote that the film "consists of a simple notation of facts... enigmatic, incoherent, irrational, absurd, inexplicable." In anticipation of a riot at the premiere in Paris, Buñuel filled his pocket with rocks to hurl at protesters - he later expressed his disappointment that a film aimed at offending the bourgeoisie was actually applauded by it.

Fountain (1917)

Artist: Marcel Duchamp (Read Full Artist Overview, Biography, and Artworks pages)

The most notorious of the readymades, Fountain was submitted to the 1917 Society of Independent Artists under the pseudonym R. Mutt. The initial R stood for Richard, French slang for "moneybags" whereas Mutt referred to JL Mott Ironworks, the New York-based company, which manufactured the porcelain urinal. After the work had been rejected by the Society on the grounds that it was immoral, critics who championed it disputed this claim, arguing that an object was invested with new significance when selected by an artist for display. Testing the limits of what constitutes a work of art, Fountain staked new grounds. What started off as an elaborate prank designed to poke fun at American avant-garde art, proved to be one of most influential artworks of the 20th century.

The Treachery of Images (1929)

Artist: René Magritte (Read Full Artist Overview, Biography, and Artworks pages)

The Treachery of Images cleverly highlights the gap between language and meaning. Magritte combined the words and image in such a fashion that he forces us to question the importance of the sentence and the word. "Pipe," for instance, is no more an actual pipe than a picture of a pipe can be smoked. Magritte likely borrowed the pipe motif from Le Corbusier's book Vers une architecture (1923), since he was an admirer of the architect and painter, but he may also have been inspired by a comical sign he knew in an art gallery, which read, "Ceci n'est pas de l'Art." The painting is the subject of a famous book-length analysis by Michel Foucault. One might also compare it with Joseph Kosuth's handling of a similar problem of image, text, and reality in his 1965 installation One and Three Chairs.

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