[Synopsis: The Odyssey is compared with the Glass in terms of narrative and formal qualities.]
Asked by Cloyd Head from the radio station WMAQ what he thinks of his Bride, Duchamp answered as follows.
I love it. I’ll tell you why. Because that was a real departure from any influence in my case. If you want to be yourself, you say, “Well, this [shows] some influence that I don’t like to see.” In this case, there was no influence. But if you want to see an influence, I’ll tell you how it was done. It was Cranach [the Elder] and Böcklin. I was spending three months in Munich when I did it. Already the idea had come into my mind to paint […] I was painting and I went to the [Alte] Pinakothek in Munich every day. I love those Cranachs, I love them. Cranach, the old man. The tall nudes. [The] nature and substance of his nudes inspired me for the flesh colour, there. At the same time, I went to [Basel] in Switzerland and studied Böcklin. In Böcklin I found that reaction against – what I call – physical painting, which I already had [the] idea of reacting against, which Impressionism, Pointillism, [and] Fauvism emphasized. I wanted to react against retinal painting, and that was my first [try]. (Sawelson-Gorse
1993:100).
The official dates for the Glass are 1915-1923, which is a period spanning eight years. In truth, however, the conception emerged with preparatory plans for this work in the summer of 1912, when Duchamp went to Munich, and created the first drawing on the theme of the Glass, entitled The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, still without the terminal adverb même (Even). This led to the related Jura-Paris Road notes, written shortly after his October 1912 automobile trip. Actual work on the Glass proper begun in New York in 1915. The Glass reached a stage of ‘definitive incompletion’ by February 1923, at which point Duchamp abandoned it and declared to retire early from art. Before returning to Paris, he signed the Glass and left it with its owner, Katherine S. Dreier. The
Glass first appeared to the public in 1926 at the International Exhibition of Modern Art organized by the Société
Anonyme, held at the Brooklyn Museum. In 1931, when Dreier took the work out of storage she discovered that both its upper and lower parts were accidentally shattered, in transit to her West Redding barn in Connecticut. When Dreier brought herself to tell Duchamp of the disaster, he accepted the breakage as a kind of ‘chance completion.’ Five years later, in 1936, Duchamp spent some months painstakingly mending it, finally encasing each panel in two further glass panels, mounted in a wood and steel frame. When the Glass was restored, Duchamp deemed it ‘completed’ and displayed it prominently in the library of Dreier’s residence, The Haven. In spanning a history of 24 years, more than a third of his life (81 years) towards completion, the Glass falls into that special category of masterpieces that are created over great length of time as a lifework. From this point of view, the Glass is comparable to its romantic predecessor, The Suitors (1852-1898), which preoccupied Gustave Moreau for 46 years, the greater part of his life (72 years), and left nearly finished at his death. Subsequently, it was exhibited once more, at the Museum of Modern Art in New York during 1943-1944. In 1953 it joined the Arensberg Collection in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania. Its frail condition has deprived it from the prospect of travelling and the Glass is permanently displayed there since.
Marylin Katz is the first known academic to refer from the literary viewpoint to a conceptual relation between Homer’s Penelope and Duchamp’s Bride, yet without reference to Joyce. Considering the fact that Penelope’s
kleos (glory) is never fully stabilized, Katz compared her to Duchamp’s Bride on the Glass – “elusive and
indecipherable, suspended in an unknowability that is only imperfectly resolved” (Katz 1991:194). This is a rather amazing comparison, taking into consideration that Katz’s book is a classic discourse with exclusive focus on the Homeric text. Still, however, it is a fine starting point for this thesis. On the other hand, Duchamp would identify with Odysseus per se, as a case of an antihero who eventually manages to emerge victorious having learned from his mistakes – fall to violence (see III.6); indulgence in drugs (see III.8); and lust for flesh (see III.9). Therefore, both male and female protagonists of the Odyssey would serve as models for Duchamp’s Glass.
However, Duchamp seems to be attracted by the Odyssey’s narrative as well. In working on the theme of Bride and Bachelors, he appears to offer a Dadaïst reading of the relation between Penelope and her suitors. The subject of a single female haunted by a great number of male contenders brings effortlessly to mind Penelope as the most famous widowed bride of all time, and the suitors as candidates for marriage to the former wife of Ithaca’s late King. With the Glass Duchamp is the first visual artist to make an intelligent and conceptual appropriation of this Homeric epic. Before him, visual art inspired by the Odyssey had an optical appeal that feasted the eye. By his iconoclastic means, Duchamp responded to Homeric subjects on a mental basis, in the wake of similar trends in avant-garde literature (see I.3, 4). The preparatory plans of such a take on the Odyssey began in 1912, which is one year after Cavafy wrote Ithaca (1911), and the work was indefinitely abandoned in 1923, which is one year after the publication of Joyce’s Ulysses and Eliot’s Wasteland (1922). Especially with
‘antiepistemological.’ In the case of Duchamp, the Glass seems to appropriate especially the Odyssey’s Book 21, which deals with the challenge that Penelope set for her suitors. Duchamp succeeded in taking that Book and making it his own. In dealing with the failure of the Bachelors to secure the Bride, it seems he is citing the Homeric situation, whereby no suitor is good enough to deserve Penelope. He represents in the Glass the ancient drama enacted by inhuman protagonists of the modern machinist age. Significantly, he is not known to have made any particular reference to the Odyssey as such, but this is no reason to exclude an obvious association. However, it is of particular significance that Richard Hamilton, who was obsessed about Duchamp, and created Tate’s replica of the Glass, was preoccupied with imaging Ulysses from 1947 to 1998.
Aside of the speculation that Duchamp’s Glass appropriated the Odyssey’s Book 21, there is additional, rather solid, evidence that the entire Homeric epic of the Odyssey was the Glass’ source of inspiration. This evidence relates to the sacred number three. According to the Greek philosopher and mathematician Pythagoras (c. 570- c. 495 BC), the number three, which forms a triad, is the noblest of all digits, as “it is the only number to equal the sum of all the terms below it, and the only number whose sum with those below equals the product of them and itself” (Hemenway 2005:53-54). Of course, whole systems of theology, theories of logic, and schools of philosophy have been constructed upon a Trinitarian foundation. Nonetheless, it is consolidated for the first time in Homer’s
Odyssey, and it is via this work that it was appropriated in Jarry’s Faustroll (see I.3), Roussel’s Impressions of Africa (see I.4), and, as will be demonstrated below, in Duchamp’s Glass and Joyce’s Ulysses.
In its different manifestations as numerical or adjectival designation, the number three occurs at least 60 times in the ancient Homeric text, and by 118 times more in the modern Greek translation by Nikos Kazantzakis. It is worth referring to the most significant cases in which the number three is used in the text. First, is the dolos (trickiness) and metis (wiliness) of Penelope, that “for three years she was secret in her design,” which is thrice-repeated in the epic (Lattimore 1965:2.106; 19.151; 24.141). The other cases relate to threefold meaningful actions in the narrative – “three times [Odysseus] brought wine [to the Cyclops], and three times he drained it” (ib. 1965:9.360- 363); “three times [Odysseus] started toward [Antikleia’s soul], and three times she fluttered” (ib. 1965:11.206- 208), and “three times [Telemachus] made [the bow] vibrate, and three times he gave over the effort” (ib. 1965:21.125-126). Moreover, the multiples of 3 (that is 6, 9, 12, 18, 24, 60, 108, and 300) also occur a total of 68 times in the same text. It is worth noting the utter absence of the number three from the Odyssey’s Books 1, 7, 16, 22 and 23, which indicates that it was used wisely rather than recklessly.
The linking of the triad with the Trinity of Christianity, including that of the Rosicrucian movement, to which Duchamp adhered (Hopkins 1998:190), has been investigated in relation to Dada’s polemic against religion. However, the fact that literary works of great appeal to Duchamp appropriated to varying degrees Homer’s Odyssey, suggests a rather more original source for it. The citation frequency of the number three’s various manifestations in the following works is telling – 59 times in Jarry’s Faustroll (1911), 148 times in Roussel’s Impressions of Africa (1910), and 284 times in Joyce’s Ulysses (1922). Significantly, in Ulysses’ colophon Joyce commemorated the three cities – Trieste, Zurich and Paris – in which this work materialized. Such a factual reference to tripolis (Greek for three cities), seems to obliquely echo the etymology of Troy, whose name recalls the fact that this city was inhabited by three races – Dardanians, Ilians and Teucrians (Valaoritis 2012:146). Another work obsessed with the number three is Dante’s
The Divine Comedy, of which Duchamp’s personal library held a copy (Décimo 2002:108). This work’s reference
to three – divided into three canticles (psalms), each consisting of 33 cantos (songs), and composed of tercets (three lines) – was Dante’s homage to the Christian Trinity. Although Dante had no direct familiarity with Homer’s poetry (it wasn’t translated and Dante didn’t read Greek), he knew of its significance from references in Virgil’s
Aeneid, modelled after the Homeric epics – employing the Odyssey as a model (Books I-VI) and connected to the Iliad (Books VII-XII). The Aeneid is further divided into three parts – Dido in Carthage, including a flashback to the
fall of Troy (Books I-IV); the Trojans’ arrival in Italy and Aeneas’ trip to the underworld where he sees the future of Rome (Books V-VIII); and the war in Italy and Aeneas’ triumph over Turnus (Books IX-XII). Motivated by antiquity, Dante has Virgil introduce Homer as poeta sovrano (sovereign poet), walking ahead of Horace, Ovid and Lucan (Dante 1914:IV.88). Therefore, Dante’s The Divine Comedy evidences the fact that the Christian doctrine of Trinitarianism is intellectually rooted in Homerism.
What is more, the number three and its multiples also inspired Picabia to call his Dada review “391,” which he launched in Barcelona in January 1917 (Allan 2011). Although 391 was a means by which to fight bourgeois conservatism and revolutionize art, Greek mythology – especially Tritons and nymphs – was prominent amongst the varied sources that Picabia appropriated to achieve his aim. Following this trend, the number three features 9 times on Duchamp’s Glass, as follows. On the one hand, manifestly with the following elements – the 3 Gilled
Cooler isolating plates; the 3 x 3 Shots; the 3 x 3 Malic Molds; the 3 Capillary Tubes for each malic form; the 3 Rollers that grind chocolate; the 3 Oculist Witnesses; and the Three Draft Pistons. On the other hand, intendedly
with the following invisible elements – the Three Crashes that create the Splash; and the trismegistus Juggler- Handler-Tender of Gravity, who also has three feet (Sanouillet and Peterson 1973:30).
Harriet and Sidney Janis first noted the inclination of Duchamp’s works to fall “into categories of threes, intentionally or otherwise” (Janis and Janis 1945). The number three was very important to Duchamp, and had a special appeal for him; both his writings and art display recurrent manifestations of triplicity. Duchamp acknowledged the importance of “the numb. 3. taken as a refrain in duration – (numb. is mathematical duration.” (Sanouillet and Peterson 1973:30). He was quite conscious of his use of triplication. “The number three interested me because I used it as a kind of architecture for the Glass,” he said, adding, “it gave the Glass some kind of unitary organization, at least, as far as its technical elaboration was concerned.” (Schwarz 1969:128). When Schwarz asked the reason for his predilection for this number, he commented, “For me it is a kind of magic number, but not magic in the ordinary sense.” (ib. 1969:128). As he explained to Cabanne, “It’s always the idea of ‘amusement’ which causes me to do things, and repeated three times… For me the number three is important, but simply from the numerical, not the esoteric, point of view: one is unity, two is double, and three is the rest. When you’ve come to the word three, you have three million – it’s the same thing as three. I had decided that the things would be done three times in order to obtain what I wanted” (Cabanne 1971:47). Therefore, for Duchamp, three is an ultimate number summing up everything, the final end of numeration, what Jarry perceived as “the undefined, which commences at three, […] the indeterminate […], the Universe, which may be defined as the Several.” (Jarry 1965:75). Ternary multiplicity was also a constant procedure in his broader working method. Duchamp’s The
Green Box of 1934 contained 93 loose sheets and was issued in 300 copies. His Boîte-en-Valise (Box in a Suitcase) of 1935-1940 contained 69 miniature replicas, and the wooden version was issued in 300 copies.
Of course, the venerability of traditions associated with the triad has dispersed into popular superstitions. Characteristically, at the beginning of Joyce’s Ulysses, Buck Mulligan in Martello tower hacked three fried eggs out of a pan and into respective plates, saying “In nomine Patris et Filii et
Spiritus Sancti” (Joyce 1934:1.14),
in mocking mummery of the Christological Trinity in the doctrine of the unity of the divine substance in three divine essences. However, triplicity for Duchamp was filtered down to be rid of its magical or esoterical qualities, and be evoked as a concept emblematic of multivalence. The Carte Postale sequence in Hans Richter’s film
Dadascope begins with a scene in
which Duchamp looks at himself in a three-sided mirror, fragmenting his appearance, which could feasibly be an allusion of his multifaceted identity (Naumann, Bailey and Shahade 2009:73). This new identity is referenced in the pun of combining the initial three letters of the French words “Mariée” and “célibataires” in the Glass’ title to form a third word, the author’s name “Marcel.”
To appreciate the value of the triad for Duchamp, it is instrumental to examine two particular works of his. First, the Malic Moulds that in 1914 he turned into nine, “a multiple of three [to] go with my idea of threes” (Cabanne 1971:48). Aiming to explain Duchamp’s emphasis on this number, Hamilton remarked on his Cartesian reasoning over superstitious or magical thinking, “Triplication deprives the art object of […] that reverence given to a unique work for […] its singularity. […] Point, line, and plane are all submitted to systematized hazard – a triple use of triple chance” (Hamilton in d’Harnoncourt 1973:65). Henderson further suggested that Duchamp’s preoccupation with three and sets of three can also be understood as specifically anti-Bergsonian, celebrating the numbering and resultant cutting up of duration that Bergson decried (Henderson 1998:179). It is also worth surveying here the 3 Standard Stoppages of 1913-1914. This work was supposed to challenge the standard metric system, treasured in the Pavillion de Breteuil in Sèvres, which was a matter of French national pride and identity
Hans Richter (Germany, 1888-1976). Dadascope: Carte Postale, 1956-1961; premiered 9 March 1965. Film (39:08). Paris, FR: Centre Georges Pompidou.
Alfred Jarry (France, 1873-1907). Gestes et opinions du docteur
Faustroll, pataphysicien. Paris, FR: Eugène Fasquelle, 1911: 79.
Courtesy of Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris.
(Naumann 1984:170). In order to serve his aim, Duchamp chose to propose three inconsistent standards. Apparently, one standard would be simply just another metric tyranny, two would only be but a convenient pair, whereas three genuinely disorientates. After their making, Duchamp used the configuration of each of the 3
Standard Stoppages three times to create the Network of Stoppages of 1914, which served as a basis for the Capillary Tubes, as well as Tu m’ of 1918. This work then, epitomizing Duchampian subjectivity, became
emblematic of his whole rationale.
On a superficial level, the reason why all the aforementioned authors used the sacred number three and its multiples is to relate their work with a tradition that had its roots in Homer. Of course, modernism’s avant-garde had irony, mockery and paradox in mind. Even so, the challenge for all the authors remained to use the number three as intelligently and seamlessly as to be taken for granted. However, the focus on two obscure yet related clues may provide a rather more insightful reason for the triad’s significance. Kazantzakis composed The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel over the course of 14 years (1924-1938) arriving at an epic poem that is nearly three times longer than the Homeric Odyssey (12,110 lines). In defence of its exactly 33,333 lines, he wrote, “The number three is sacred for me simply because it is an arithmetic expression of the dialectics’ course of the mind from the thesis (position) to the antithesis (opposition), and thence to the climax of every effort the synthesis (composition).” (Kazantzakis 1943:1029). By this means Kazantzakis points the way in which such a sophisticated proposition, inspired by Hegel’s belief that spiritual reality develops according to the triadic process of thesis/antithesis/synthesis (Pinkard 2000:ix), relates to Homer. Having established the ’pataphysical connection of Faustrol to the Odyssey (see I.3), it is not surprising that Jarry uses this idea to tease the meanings of Bosse-de-Nage’s “Ha ha,” his buffoonish way of expressing affirmation, “Pronounced quickly enough […] it is the idea of
unity. Pronounced slowly, it is the idea of duality […] But this duality proves also that the perception of Bosse-de-
Nage was notoriously […] unsuited to all syntheses” (Jarry 1965:75). These clues relate the sacred number three to the archetypal notion of synthesis, which is not just the ability to compose, integrate, and merge, but is the foundation stone of creativity as the most important asset by which to navigate through a changing world. This quintessential quality seems after all to be at the core of Homer’s Odyssey. And it was this quality that all aforementioned appropriators claimed from Homer.