Fresh Widow c. 1920 - 1964

Marcel Duchamp, or his female alter ego Rose Selavy, made this little window out of wood, glass and leather in 1920. It’s painted a slightly sickly, very particular shade of teal. The paint is evenly applied, almost industrially smooth, which I guess is the point. There's something very deliberate about the construction, but also about this particular shade of teal. It’s not a happy color, but it’s not exactly sad either. It's like a mood ring stuck on 'meh'. Those panes of shiny black leather? They’re not letting any light through. No view here, just a void. I keep thinking about Duchamp's readymades, ordinary objects turned into art simply by declaring them so. There’s a similar gesture here, a kind of deadpan humor. It's a window, but it's also not a window. This piece reminds me of the work of Sherrie Levine, who re-photographed famous images, questioning originality and authorship. Both artists seem to be asking: What is art, and who gets to decide? It's a conversation that keeps going, each artist adding their own twist.