Klara Kemp-Welch: Jerzy Bereś’s Radical Expansion of the Ready-Made Event (2007)

(The text was published in exhibition catalogue: Jerzy Bereś. Art Bends Life, Bunkier Sztuki Gallery, Kraków 2007)

A striking photograph taken at the state sponsored Bureau for Artistic Exhibitions (BWA) in Lublin on 6 November 1981 shows Jerzy Bereś standing in front of a small fire wearing nothing but a board around his neck. The sign he wears reads, in Polish, “READY-MADE.” Bereś’s expansion of Marcel Duchamp’s strategy to include his physical self, framed in a socialist context, is an intriguing transposition. And it is one that requires a parallel expansion of our critical framework to accommodate it. The image is from the first of a series of five polemical “dialogues with Marcel Duchamp”. This series of manifestations explored the wider ramifications of Duchamp’s avant-garde strategy for art but also for politics and people caught in particular political situations. The first two were called Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, and the remaining three – Disputes with Marcel Duchamp. Although they all refer to the specific character of the Polish situation, they use the specificity of the local as an anchor for the exposition of universal concerns. This universalising ambition may explain the diverse locations for the five events, after Lublin: Oxford (England), Warsaw, Bochum (Germany) and finally Alma in Quebec (Canada). Bereś made his first Duchamp-related manifestation in 1981, in the dramatic context of Polish realities of the Solidarity period. The series continued in much the same vein, after the end of communism and well into the aggressive capitalism of the 1990s. This continuity highlights the methodological challenges posed by writing an integrated history of post-conceptualist action-based practice.

To what extent was the systemic critique proposed in the heterogeneous practices, that emerged from the late 1960s onwards, differently politically inflected according to the late socialist or the capitalist context? An exploration of the dialogues underpinning these modes of critique necessarily involves following new trajectories. One such path is to explore how the dissident art of the 1970s and 80s in East-Central Europe forged new dialogues with that branch of the historic avant-garde that had sought to undermine capitalist conditions. Can the same theoretical frameworks illuminate both contexts or do we need to find new models for thinking about these problems? Once we acknowledge the obvious difficulties, there may be a productive friction from shifting theory developed in one context to explore another. The philosophy of Alain Badiou, I would argue, lends itself to such contextual fluidity. Bereś’s radical expansion of the ready-made has the effect of making the infamous strategy deployed by Duchamp as early as 1913, explicit as “event”. I mean by this that the ready-made was an event in the sense elaborated by Badiou in his most important work L’Etre et L’Evenement (Being and Event, 1988).

Badiou posited the event as the first dimension in a truth process. An event, he writes, brings to pass ‘something other’ than the situation, opinions, instituted knowledges; the event is a hazardous (hazardeux), unpredictable supplement, which vanishes as soon as it appears.¹ At least two of the ready-mades inadvertently fulfil Badiou’s condition of “vanishing” without attracting much interest, soon after being exhibited in 1916. The rent, arguably, never really appeared, having been left behind in Paris and lost, or just hung idly from the ceiling in Duchamp’s New York studio shadows. Although there were immortalised in a number of photographs, they remained un-curated for decades: the degree to which the ready-made strategy is usually narrated as dependent on the legitimising context of the gallery, from this point of view, becomes something of a misnomer. Whether it was by virtue of choosing, designating, signing, inscribing, encountering, [or] exhibition, it was certainly on account of an action that the ready-mades were accomplished.² And this action constituted, I suggest, what Badiou has called an immanent break which meant nothing according to the prevailing language and established knowledge of the situation.³ New challenges to the production of values were implied: systemic critique appeared on the table, arguably, for the first time. To continue with Badiou’s schema, a new truth process was under way. For a truth process to develop, fidelity had to follow: there needed to be a sustained investigation of the situation and, finally, the production of a multiple truth.⁴ If the ontological characteristics of an event are, as Badiou says, to inscribe, to name, the situated void of that for which it is an event then, in the case of the ready-made, this void must be the negation of industrial production by the art market, or, more broadly, the reified heart of capital.⁵ What bearing could this critique have then, on the conditions of late socialism?

Ready-made translates into Polish as “ready object”. This translation links the strategy more explicitly than the English does, to the condition of objecthood. By wearing the sign around his neck, Bereś proposed himself as a ready-made; the artist effected the transformation of his person from subject to object. Having kindled a fire on entering the room, and then hung the board around his neck, Bereś provocatively burned the sign in the fire. After this, he invited a young woman from the audience to join him in a game of chess. This sequence of events suggests a symbolic re-enactment of Duchamp’s perhaps more mythic than actual “giving up” of art for chess. If so, then Bereś begun at the end; this would be a dialogue less with the man than with his legacy, in relation to which the game of chess was the first of a number of challenges. Bereś was naked and his female opponent clothed, in a pointed reconfiguration of the sexual politics rehearsed in Duchamp’s notorious 1963 game with twenty-year-old Eve Babitz. Duchamp and his opponent reportedly played three games in quick succession (all of which he is said to have won in a few moves without once looking up from the board). Bereś’s game, on the other hand, was drawn out. Whilst playing, he was also busy painting something on his body, a stroke for each move. He interrupted the game (with a prematurity that showed contempt for the competitive spirit of the game) as soon as he had painted on his torso a green mark. If the aim of chess, as is often pointed out, is to “mate,” then Bereś deliberately failed to deliver. Taking charcoal from the fire, he crossed out the question mark on his body and made one under the name of Duchamp on the board on the wall, which he then signed and dated, in a provocative parody of the process of inscription.

Bereś positioned himself in critical opposition to that branch of the neo-avant-garde which conducted its formal enquiries across the bodies of women (think only of Manzoni’s Living Sculptures of 1961). However, this was incidental, for he stood opposed to objectification of every kind. In the Second Dialogue with Marcel Duchamp at the Museum of Modern Art in Oxford on September 17th 1988, this time wearing a wooden board with the word “OBJECT”, he made a programmatic statement announcing that he was going to put an end to what he called the objectifying line in art.⁶ This he traced through Yves Klein’s anthropometries to Joseph Beuys’ proposal of his life as a work. The tendency began, according to Bereś, with Duchamp’s irresponsible playing with the object in the form of the ready-made. He maintained that Duchamp was short-sighted or irresponsible for failing to foresee, or just failing to care, that his irreverent gesture would end by institutional acceptance. Historians continue to disagree as to whether the 1964 editions of replica ready-mades that Duchamp authorised undermined his critique of authenticity or reiterated it. When questioned by Joan Bakewell about his decision to permit the replicas, Duchamp replied: repetition is good – and you know why, because the collectors can collect.⁷ According to Bereś, the fetishisation of these “ready-made originals” and other objects served as a pretext for the further spread of an “objectification” that seemed (to anyone not too well versed in the intricacies of Duchamp’s very particular qualifications about “indifference”) to suggest that anything, including a person, could become art. Behind the Dadaist spirit of irreverence and the immediate humour of a proposition such as Fountain (1917), and arguably behind the replicas, lay the crucially serious message about the unnameable fetishism in art and society that so attracted Bereś. But this had nothing to do with influence in any conventional sense: Bereś’s engagement and disengagement with Duchamp was a way of waging his own war on fetishism. Nevertheless, this continuation of the critique of fetishism can be read, I suggest, as fidelity to the encounter with the ready-mades as event.

Bereś dramatically enacted his termination of the objectifying line in art through the symbolic smashing of an empty vodka bottle against a stone during the Third Dispute with Marcel Duchamp at the Centre for Contemporary Art in Warsaw (24th April 1990). He insisted that this bottle would never be a work, thereby taking issue with Duchamp’s sardonic remark that if he were to toss aside a bottle, people would be sure to call it a work of art. Bereś identified what he believed had been a false trajectory resulting from Duchamp. Badiou defines a simulacrurn of truth as an event that proposed plenitude rather than the naming of a void: Bereś, I would argue, reads Beuys’ proposal of social sculpture in terms of objectification for this same reason, because a true subject cannot be constructed in such prescriptive conditions. If defining the void adequately is difficult, this is because it is revealed by the truth process itself. The reason why subjects of truth can only be constructed around the void is that the void, the multiple-of-nothing, neither excludes nor constrains anyone. It is the absolute neutrality of being and is therefore universally addressed.⁸ This idea echoes Duchamp’s insistence that his selection of objects was not guided by aesthetic choice but by a search for the “indifferent”, as opposed to embodying, for example, an ideal of beauty. The errant narrative Bereś symbolically ruptures is tied to the problem of performative objects.

In a performance scenario, Bereś claimed, performer and audience objectify one another and therefore themselves. He declares his own aim to be to nourish a situation of partnership on the basis of subjectivity.⁹ To use Badiou’s terms: spectators are to become subjects of truth. Bereś saw that this is a difficult path: the body artist, whether he wishes it or not, faces a dilemma which he called an entanglement – entanglement in, as he put it, a whole conglomeration of fetishisation, idolisation, from which there is no way out.¹⁰ Bereś’s manifestations lay bare the power relations in which the performer is embroiled – the dichotomy of subjects and objects that effects situations globally. Whilst a film or theatre director, Bereś suggested, could perhaps justify his instrumental treatment of his actors in the name of creating a perfect work of art, the creation of empires, as he pointed out in the address he made as part of the Second Dialogue (1988), involves the objectification of millions of people, whilst paradoxically standing no chance whatever of becoming a perfect work.¹¹ The analogy highlights the aesthetic dimension of largescale political projects. Towards the end of the same action, Bereś, again naked this time with the word “shame” painted on his body in the colours of the Polish flag – referred to the example of the objectification of the Polish nation by the politicians at Yalta.¹² The British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, was to visit Poland later that year and Bereś provocatively said in his manifestation that he thought she would do well to bear this historical event in mind as she toured.

Bereś repeatedly draws attention to the long-term impact of the objectification of nature in industrial societies. The affirmation of nature is the end point towards which the dialogues seem to proceed. The Last Dispute with Marcel Duchamp, at the Galeria Language Plus, Alma, Quebec, 14 March 1995, was structured around the signing and dating of a stone. Bereś’s ready-mades were not mass-produced objects but elements excised from the natural world. If Duchamp’s inscriptions of indifferent everyday objects were intended as less than invested reflections on the aesthetic capability of the industrially produced – Bereś’s action with the stone was a disavowal of this potential. Holding the stone in the air, he declared: what is natural, is stronger than what is artificial.¹³ The word he painted on his torso on this occasion was “SENSE”. Bereś’s commitment to nature had begun when he was a student in the workshop of Xawery Dunikowski. Bereś’s early works deviated from the smooth surfaces of his teacher in all but material. The wooden sculptures he made, which he called “phantoms”, were rough trunks and branches, often virtually un-changed or re-assembled in crudely anthropomorphic forms and inserted into new situations. In 1966, whilst at a state-sponsored Symposium of Artists and Scientists in Puławy, Bereś found an impressive oak, uprooted and dumped by industrial machinery so as to clear space for a factory. Bereś’s contribution to exhibition that followed the symposium was to transport the tree to the site of the factory and put it upright once more. He called it his Great Phantom (Zwid wielki). A number of Bereś’s ramshackle sculptures, or “material documents” as he preferred to call them, disappeared soon after their exhibition; perhaps thrown out by a cleaner, more likely than not on the instructions of the censors. Whilst Duchamp’s Bottle-Rack (1914) looked too much like a “product”, Bereś’s “material documents” did not resemble products enough. It was clear to those with the power to decide that neither “belonged” in a gallery.

At the heart of the network of problems mobilised by the ready-made strategy lay a profound anxiety about the fragility of identity; and it is this anxiety that links Bereś to Duchamp (and both of them, though differently, to Freud). Duchamp, through his ready-mades, investigated the distinction between the work that is not a work of art and the work that is, outrageously proposing that an object made by workers in a factory might have the rarefied value reserved for art (a distinction that would transmute, by the late 1930s, into the infra-thin). Bereś’s archaic sculptures and his meticulously executed manifestations pushed back the horizons still further, to highlight the irresponsible abuse of nature at the root of industrial civilisations. His environmental commitment was threatening; a threat embodied in the powerful, looming “phantoms.” The pressing question of the day was no longer to tackle the lure of the commodity as a philosophical protest, but on a practical level, to address the environmental consequences of the industry that produces these commodities. Bereś commented bitterly on how the People’s Republic of Poland measured its success by the number of smoking chimneys.¹⁴ The rampant consumerism that followed the entrance to the free market has hardly improved matters. Although the chimneys were kept smoking in the People’s Republic of Poland, the situation on the ground was at breaking point. The contradictions of reality were becoming glaringly apparent: according to one contemporary account from 1980, just driving from Łódź to Warsaw, one could find shops selling the same cuts of meat at four different prices – a novelty for the planned economy. At Huta Warszawa, the works’ canteen alternated the new and old prices, sometimes several times a day.¹⁵ Food prices had been frozen at 1960s rates by huge subsidies, and the government, on the eve of disaster, tried to tackle this economic time-bomb by introducing, unannounced, a tiered system of pricing, giving better cuts of meat to “commercial” shops, which sold for higher prices. These price increases were amongst the factors that mobilised the spread of strike action that provided the base for Solidarność / Solidarity.

The Solidarity movement is explored from a theoretical perspective in Bereś’s important essay The Work as Stimulator of Judgement. He describes it as a creative fact – a term he generally used in place of the word art.¹⁶ The success of a creative fact was for Bereś measured by its capacity to interrupt the suspension of judgement that all too often is at the root of social as well as aesthetic stagnation. Bereś’s description of Solidarity as a paradigm of a social work which brought together millions of people¹⁷, serves as an unexpected counterpoint to his distopian comments about the dangers of the perfect work.¹⁸ His manifestations from this period were tied to the struggle to provoke judgement. As well as the First Dialogue, in November 1981, Bereś made his famous ROMANTIC MANIFESTATION in which, arriving with his crooked wooden Romantic Wheelbarrow, he lit a series of fires in the main square in Kraków. Around these were painted the words: “FIRE OF HOPE”, “FIRE OF DIGNITY”‘, “‘FIRE OF LOVE”, “FIRE OF TRUTH” and “FIRE OF FREEDOM”. That these words had been removed by morning, is testimony of their power. (The artist was surprised to find that the same thing happened when he repeated the action in November 2000). Whilst they galvanised popular involvement and attracted attention, Bereś’s use of such words, as well as his attachment to religious symbolism, has had the side-effect of rather dis-crediting him in some circles.

When Martial Law was declared in December 1981 many artists agreed to boycott official cultural institutions. Instead, churches became home to exhibitions. Bereś saw enormous potential: The spectators, who same to the church for patriotic or religious reasons and found an exhibition there, tended to overcome a certain reluctance, make a certain effort, to get to the art.¹⁹ The Catholic church and its rituals are a constant frame for his manifestations. If Duchamp appropriated for his own ends the language of industry, as Molly Nesbit has argued, the language appropriated by Bereś has been that of Catholicism.²⁰ The particular circumstances of Poland produced a situation in which, for a time at least, religion became the most effective medium for transgression: a pragmatic response to circumstances. Interestingly though, religious symbolism is still rampant in the Fourth Dispute with Marcel Duchamp (which, Bereś mentioned in passing, had as its secondary theme a dialogue with Beuys) at the Museum Bochum, in the Ruhr (11 May 1991). But by this time, I think, the reasoning behind this language was different. Bereś entered the gallery naked with a rope around his neck and waited whilst a series of officials gave introductory speeches (waiting long enough to make the bureaucracy seem jarring). He painted on his body the word “GEIST” and, in a strange restaging of Christ’s humiliation by the soldiers, he tied knots in the rope and made of it a “crown” which he put on his head. The manifestation culminated with Bereś standing on a podium wearing his crown and the word “GEIST” on his torso, asking that the audience judge whether what they see is a good work of art. The Protestant Bishops who made up the majority of the audience on this occasion (being gathered in the region for a symposium that had also become the occasion for an exhibition on the theme of spirituality in art), were eager to debate the questions Bereś had raised through his piece.

Bereś materialises concepts: a word becomes a body. The artist acts as their vehicle, exploring how they resonate: de-familiarising them, singling them out for consideration in unlikely contexts, in an acknowledgement that any truth-process must pass through language. His manifestations frequently end with an invitation to open discussion and share a drink. Social and supernatural collide in a ritual of communion / consumption. The artist repeatedly states that his aim is open dialogue, suggesting the usual neo-avant-garde rhetoric of desire for audience-fusion and the erasure of the presumed subject / object relations of spectatorship. Jacques Ranciѐre has recently suggested that the problem lies in the terms of this equation rather than in relations themselves: one condition typically thought necessary for the politicisation of art is the becoming active of the spectator.²¹ Ranciѐre contends that the premise upon which such an assumption is based – that to be a spectator means to be passive – is mistaken.²² He argues that to look and to listen requires the work of attention, selection, reappropriation, a way of making one’s own film, one’s own text, one’s own installation out of what the artist has presented.²³ Emancipation begins, therefore, when we dismiss the op-position between looking and acting.²⁴ Although his humble invitation to dialogue shows he intuited a solution, Bereś himself, as I said earlier, could not see his way out of the problem of the performer’s “entanglement”.

Badiou’s particular definition of the subject, as induced by the process of truth, provides another way out of this dichotomy. He provides as a model “the subject of love”: the subject induced by fidelity to an amorous encounter […] the lovers as such enter into the composition of one loving subject, who exceeds them both.²⁵ In the same way, works of art are not objects any more than their authors are their subjects; they become, rather, subject-points into whose composition the artist enters.²⁶ Bereś’s manifestations might then become part of the “evental” chain proposed by Duchamp – stages in the same truth process. Therefore, it is not a case of Bereś merely adopting Duchamp’s strategy and applying it to his situation. The dialogues were a polemical continuation of the same project that, I would argue, took advantage of their altogether different perspective to point out weaknesses of the “original” strategy but to salvage what was most radical from within the strategy and use it to explore the possibilities of constructing a new form of subject through art.

In view of the scepticism and cynicism brought about by the monumental failure of communism’s utopian aims and the stagnant consensus as to the “end of grand narratives”, it is perhaps surprising, if, in the end, refreshing to find Badiou returning to unfashionable concepts such as truth. In the debate over what forms of action / activism are appropriate to the situation of globalisation, the voice of Jerzy Bereś shares this uncompromising simplicity. He is undaunted by exposing his ageing, naked body to public scrutiny. Bereś is widely considered one of the most poetic of twentieth century Polish artists, a true Romantic; this unfortunately serves to obfuscate his radical capabilities. Piotr Piotrowski has constructed the following argument around Bereś’s perceived Romanticism:

Referring to the grand narratives of Polish culture, the romantic myth of the artist-prophet and the sense of national mission, he did not put tradition into doubt or propose any kind of critical discourse. On the contrary, Bereś explored the national heritage as a source of authority to criticise the reality of Communism.²⁷

Although this assessment of the relation between tradition and the contemporary situation in Bereś’s manifestations is undeniably correct, Piotrowski is, I think, mistaken in suggesting that Bereś therefore proposes no critical discourse of his own. He contends that this tradition and its related identity politics [cannot] match the danger of globalisation and may not be able to resist the temptation of nationalism, trying to defend the local against global cultural developments.²⁸ And this might certainly be the case if indeed this sort of a romantic and prophetic national mission were an adequate summary of Bereś’s project. I would contend, however, that this description does not do his strategies justice. His project is far broader: more complex, more self-reflexive and more interesting. Bereś is well aware of the dangers of fetishisation of the nation. In the Third Dispute (1990), he issues the following warning: the tragedy begins in the situation when a given nation considers itself to be the chosen nation. And I would like to warp my nation, that is to say the Poles, us, against making of ourselves a chosen nation… This is the source of nationalism.²⁹ He gives Germany as an example. Badiou explains the problem in more robust critical terms. According to him, the National Socialist Revolution was a simulacrum of truth, because it was supposed to bring into being, and name, not the void of the earlier situation, but its plenitude – not the universality of that which is sustained […] but the absolute particularity of a community.³⁰ In doing so, it promoted the simulacrum of a subject, by voiding those around it, and inventing the category “Jew”; it was faithful only to the alleged national substance of a people” and therefore incapable of truth, only of evil.³¹

What models of subjectivity should art purvey in the post-socialist situation? Piotrowski rightly acknowledges that a paradigm shift away from the opposition national / international is needed. In the end, he proposes the model of feminist, gay, and ethnic minority cultures that, he claims, through a deconstruction of the imperial subject […] point to distinct places from which they speak and to specific values which they affirm, formulating distinct identity politics.³² In the ex-West, however, there is growing feeling that such identity politics, whilst important, may itself mark an abandonment of a larger political project. One of the main challenges faced in the 21st century is how to overcome the collapse of radicalism into identity politics.³³ For Badiou, such “minorities” are defined externally, and therefore not the subject of truth. Their political meaning is problematic. He asks: Can this identity, in itself, function in a progressive fashion – that is, other than as a property invented by the oppressors themselves?³⁴ I would argue that Jerzy Bereś may provide a more flexible model, if we see in his extraordinary dialogue with Duchamp, a crucial acknowledgement of how singularity and universality intersect. Bereś’s example seems to propose a new mode of being that refuses the problematic of individual versus collective in favour of convocation to a multiply-conceived truth, in which communication, even if much of this must be in the form of a multitude of opinions, is the key. And if Bereś seems at times ridiculous, this may well be because the power of a truth is also a kind of powerlessness.³⁵ This is so because there must always remain at least one point that truth cannot force; this Badiou calls the unnameable of a truth. In political truth, one such unnameable is community.³⁶

translated by Anda MacBride

1
Alain Badiou, Ethics. An Essay on the Understanding of Evil, trans. P. Hallward, London 2001, p. 67.
2
See Dawn Ades, Neil Cox, David Hopkins, Marcel Duchamp, London 1999, p. 152
3
Alain Badiou, op. cit., p. 43.
4
Ibidem, p. 68.
5
lbidem, p. 69.
6
Jerzy Hanusek, Katalog twórczości Jerzego Beresia, 1954-1994 (A catalogue of works by Jerzy Bereś, 1954-1994), part II: Manifestacje (Manifestations), in cat.: Zwidy, Wyrocznie, Ołtarze, Wyzwania (Phantoms, Prophets, Altars, Challenges), ed. A. Węcka, Poznań 1995, p. 142
7
BBC TV Interwiew with Joan Bakewell from 5.06.1968, available to view at http://www.toutfait. com/auditorium.jsp.
8
Alain Badiou, op. cit., p. 7.
9
Jerzy Bereś, Jestem za otwarciem dialogu. Z Jerzym Beresiem rozmawiają Ł. Guzek i W Bosak (I am for opening a dialogue. Ł. Guzek and W. Bosak talk to Jerzy Bereś), “Tumult” 1990, no. 6, p. 47 [my translation].
10
Jerzy Hanusek, Katalog twórczości Jerzego Beresia, 1954-1994, part II: Manifestacje. op. cit., s. 147 [my translation].]
11
See Jerzy Bereś, Wstyd. Między podmiotem a przedmiotem (Shame. Between the subject and the object), ed. J. Hanusek, Otwarta Pracownia, Kraków 2002, p. 51.
12
See Jerzy Hanusek, Katalog twórczości Jerzego Beresia, 1954-1994, part II: Manifestacje, op. cit., p. 142 [my translation].
13
Jerzy Hanusek, Katalog twórczości Jerzego Beresia, 1954-1994, part II: Manifestacje, op. cit., p. 160 [my translation].
14
Jerzy Bereś, Wstyd. Między podmiotem a przedmiotem, op. cit., p. 181 [my translation].
15
Anthony Kemp-Welch, Poland under Communisrn. A Cold War History, Cambridge 2007 [forthcoming].
16
Jerzy Bereś, Wstyd. Między podmiotem a przedmiotem, op. cit., p. 43.
17
Ibidem [my translation]
18
Ibidem [my translation]
19
Ibidem [my translation].
20
See Molly Nesbit, Their Common Sense, London 2000.
21
Jacques Ranciѐre in: Art of the Possible. Fulvia Carnevale and John Kelsey in Conversotion with Jacques Ranciére, “Artforum International” 2007, no. 7, p. 264.
22
Ibidem.
23
Ibidem.
24
Ibidem.
25
Alain Badiou, op. cit., p. 43.
26
Ibidem
27
Piotr Piotrowski, Male Artist’s Body: National Identity vs Identity Politics, in: Primary Documents. A Sourcebook for Eastern and Central European Art since the 1950s, ed. Laura Hoptman i Tomáś Pospiszyl, New York 2002, p. 226-233.
28
Ibidem, p. 233.
29
Jerzy Hanusek, Katalog twórczości Jerzego Beresia, 1954-1994, part II Manifestacje, op. cit., p. 147 [my translation].
30
Alain Badiou, op. cit., p. 73.
31
Ibidem.
32
Piotr Piotrowski, op. cit., p. 233.
33
See Terry Eagleton, Ideology of the Aesthetic, Oxford 1990, p. 5-7.
34
Alain Badiou, op. cit., p. 107.
35
Ibidem, p. 85.
36
Ibidem.

Jerzy Bereś

Klara Kemp-Welch: Jerzy Bereś’s Radical Expansion of the Ready-Made Event (2007)

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Jerzy Bereś

Klara Kemp-Welch: Jerzy Bereś’s Radical Expansion of the Ready-Made Event (2007)

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