6 9 
Pavillon de Breteuil 
At the Pavillon de Breteuil in Sèvres we find the international standard 
meter of iridic platinum at a temperature of o° Centigrade. Obviously it is 
not with this meter that the greatness of genius is measured. To measure a 
genius the dealers make use of an appropriate meter of spiritual rubber. 
This meter must be capable of being either long or short. It must be short 
in order for the dealer to be able to say: “See how big this genius is: he is a 
hundred and fifty meters long. In my shop you will find only geniuses over a 
hundred meters.” The meter must be long in order for the dealer to be able 
to say: “Look at that fellow; he isn’t even a meter long. He’s not a genius, he’s 
a dwarf. He’s not a maître, he’s a millimaître.” 
The sticky, viscous portion of the wild boar, the worm-infested portion 
between the thighs, sautéed in pine-gum, garnished with a few cherry pits to 
crack merrily between the teeth, is the favorite dish of the true huntsman. 
The exquisite body of the art dealer makes the choice more difficult. What 
is, indeed, the most succulent, tasty morsel? Painters prefer the feet. At first 
sight one would take them for a ritual object of the pre-Adamic era. But 
slowly they come to life, move and say “papa” and “mama.” The feet of art 
dealers are the size of an artist’s palette. Between the palette’s toes grow the 
flowers of the philosophy of art. Art dealers’ feet are always turned towards 
the rear of their shop, where the sacred fire burns in the uncircumcized safe. 
Like the needle of the compass, they are in movement day and night. Con 
sequently, the dealers’ feet are often turned backwards, in the direction op 
posite from the one they are moving in. At the Ides you will see the dealers, 
with a nonchalance bordering on indecency, undress and dash into the street 
stark naked in the name of beauty, to dance rounds. There is hardly a dealer 
who has not previously gone through a stage of being a danseuse at the Folies 
Bergère. Like opera stars they are perfect toe-dancers; their feet are as beauti 
ful as the Alexandrine feet of Racine. 
Stone formed by human hand 
When I exhibited my first concrete reliefs, I put out a little manifesto de 
claring the art of the bourgeois to be sanctioned lunacy. Especially these naked 
men, women and children in stone or bronze, exhibited in public squares, 
gardens and forest clearings, who untiringly dance, chase butterflies, shoot 
arrows, hold out apples, blow the flute, are the perfect expression of a mad

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