Ort and Abjecthood

Granted, Fried does not quite go as far as saying that literalist (a term Blogger.com prompts me to spell-check and offers, as a replacement, "Federalist") art is abject. He does, however, here and there in his essay, come close to denying it the status of ort - I mean "art". Perhaps the Daly-dadaist in me this morning wants to tweak Fried's nose (or mustache / goatee if he ever wore one) and say "hey, don't forget to have fun". Granted, again, Morris, Judd and Smith - the latter in particular ("Die"?) - didn't seem like cheerful fellas either. But maybe it was all dead pan. Nevertheless, here we are: it's Monday morning and no one, not one soul, alive, dead or in-between - about to be put underground  - has deemed Fried worthy of a blog post.

I understand the reluctance, especially if you consider the lengthy and serpentine qualities of Fried's study of Courbet's Burial. These are enough to put me in a somber or funeral disposition. If Fried could have buried the matter, sooner, and once and for all. Put it at rest. If he - and Courbet - could have let the coffin bearers do their business and the priest deliver his sermon, the matter might have been sealed, the grave  filled.

Enter Duchamp. Elle a chaud au cul (et Fried n'a pas froid aux yeux!). An early example, I find, of the process of turning painting into object - not abject (she/he is cute with the facial hair). But here we have a classic, perhaps one of the most popular works of art in history, turned on its head. A few marks and letters: it is no longer what it was. Dealt with in such a fashion - active and irreverent alteration vs. beholding - The Joconda has just been objectified. One no longer is "absorbed" by the content of Da Vinci's painting but is aware (theatricality, here I come) of its re-purposing, aware of the hand of the artist-joker.