淘气又恼人的马塞尔·杜尚

If you dislike contemporary art, all of the things you hate about it can be traced back to him. By Sebastian Smee Something about art disgusted Marcel Duchamp. Expression, taste, aesthetic intention—anything that gave off a whiff of the precious, he recoiled from. He was mod- ern. He relished the impersonal operations of chance. He loved jokes and sex and the movements of modern machinery. “Paint- ing is finished,” he said to the Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși at an air show in Paris in 1912, when he was 25. “Who will do any better than that propeller?” The next year, Duchamp mounted a bicycle wheel onto an upside-down fork fixed to a wooden stool. …