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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