International Journal of Literature and Art (IJLA) Volume 1 Issue 2, November 2013
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Avant-Garde: the Legacy of Paul Durand-Ruel Peter Armstrong Leicester University Management School, U.K. p.armstrong@le.ac.uk Abstract It is well-known that the ascendancy of French Impressionism in late 19th century Paris involved the creation of a system of collaboration between dealer and critic. This dealer-critic system prospered because it offered aspirant dealers and young artists a means of overcoming the barriers to entry into the art market. This paper argues that the system has imperatives of its own which are independent of those which brought it into being, principally that the works in which it deals and the critical vocabularies through which they are promoted must be distinctive. Thus a pressure to innovate is built into the dealer-critic system and this may be a contributory factor behind proliferation of movements and manifestos which have characterised the art world from the late 19th century onwards. Keywords Impressionism; Dealer-critic System; Avant-garde
Introduction: French Impressionism and the Advent of the Dealer-Critic System From the last quarter of the 17th century until the latter half of the 19th, the accreditation of contemporary painting in France was effectively monopolised by the Académie de Peinture et de Sculpture. The training of would-be artists at the École des Beaux-Arts was closely regulated and was followed by a period of pupillage in the ateliers of existing members of the Académie (White and White, 1993: 19). When they were considered prepared, the students were entered for the Académie’s annual competitions, the subject matter for which was closely prescribed (ibid.: 23-4). Prizes were awarded by a committee of eminent academicians and the winners exhibited at an annual salon. For the Grande Bourgeoisie, which effectively constituted the market for painting, the imprimatur of the Académie was crucial. Asked why he had exhibited at the 1881 Salon whilst in revolt against the classical styles promoted by the Académie, Renoir had this to say: 'There are 15 art lovers in Paris capable of appreciating a painter without the Salon. There are 80,000 who wouldn't buy a thing from a painter not exhibited by the Salon.' (Moulin, 1987: 12).
Wijnberg and Gemser (2000) have described the Académie as operating a system of ‘peer selection’ This is true so long as it is born in mind that the ‘peers’ in question constituted an artistic establishment and one which operated through a well-developed bureaucracy. As Wijnberg and Gemser (2000) also observe, systems of this kind are inherently conservative. Compounding bureaucratic inertia, judgments of quality and capability at every stage are made by senior members of an institution whose very seniority depends on respect for existing styles. Above all, as a creature of the state, the Académie promoted and defended classical history painting as emblematic of the glories of the empire or republic, whichever happened to be in place. Reflecting this, entrants to its annual competitions were required to produce paintings on historical subjects nominated by the committee. At the time of the origins of Impressionism 1, however, the authority of the Académie was beginning to be questioned. As more and more aspirant artists crowded into Paris the judges of the annual competitions had to cope with something like 5000 paintings in a short space of time (White and White, 1993: 89). The consequent volume of rejections inevitably led to public protests against the selections. In response, the Emperor Napoleon 111 agreed to a showing of the rejected paintings in a Salon des Réfusées, an exhibition which may have inspired the future Impressionists to mount one of their own. Four of these, meanwhile, Monet, Renoir, Sisley and Bazille were supposedly learning their trade in the atelier of Charles Gleyre (Bosman, 1961: 5). Though the arrangement was typical of the period, and tended to institutionalise the authority of the Académie, in this particular case Gleyre’s tuition, and indeed his attendance was somewhat sporadic (Rewald, 1973: 73). 1 The terms ‘Impressionism’ and ‘Impressionists’, are used throughout order to avoid lengthy circumlocutions. In fact the artists were called by other names at the time (notably ‘intransigents’) and their work was always more various and always more contiguous with the past than can be captured by any single label.
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International Journal of Literature and Art (IJLA) Volume 1 Issue 2, November 2013
Thus left to their own devices the group, with Monet as ringleader, began to articulate their discontents with academic styles and subject matter. When Gleyre closed his studio in 1864 it was again Monet who persuaded the rest to paint together en plein air (Rewald, 1973: 93, Farrell, 2003: 33). The habit of working side-by side on the same subject thus inaugurated at this early stage in their careers seems to have given the young painters the confidence to pursue the experiments through which the visual vocabulary of Impressionism was developed (Farrell 2003: 27-67, Ehrlich-White, 1996: 64-5). Establishing friendships with Pissarro, Cézanne, Berthe Morisot, and Guillaumin, the group began to meet regularly in the Café Gerbois in Montmartre. Later, the circle expanded to include Degas, Manet and, importantly for the subsequent trajectory of Impressionism, the critics Théodore Duret and Georges Rivière and the dealer Paul Durand-Ruel. Clearly the selection procedures of the Académie had no place for artistic innovation, still less for a project which explicitly declared itself against imaginative art, historical subjects, and the romantic emphasis on the communication of passion. In opposition to all of this, the Impressionists regarded the emotional condition of the artist as secondary to the business of recording fragments of nature or life in as objective and scientific a spirit as possible (Paraphrased from Chilvers, Osborne and Farr, 1997). Inevitably the result was a clash, and it occurred in 1873 with the rejection of pictures by Pissarro, Monet, Renoir, Cézanne, and Sisley from the annual exhibition of the Salon des Beaux Arts. Possessing by now the confidence of a group with a mission, and inspired perhaps by the precedent of the Salon des Refusées, the painters responded with what might fairly be described as an act of collective entrepreneurship. Constituting themselves as the 'Société Anonyme des Artistes Peintres, Sculpteurs et Graveurs', the painters held their first exhibition in April 1874. Though it was a critical and financial failure, it did succeed in generating a sense of group identity amongst the artists, dealers and collectors who had been involved. Testament to the sense of purpose crystallised by this first exhibition was the fact that it was followed by seven more, in 1876, 1877, 1879, 1880, 1881, 1882, and 1886. The reaction of traditionally minded critics to the earlier exhibitions was bewilderment, suspicion and frequently abuse. It was therefore important for the 16
Impressionists’ future that their circle included sympathetic critics and dealers. It is generally accepted that the role of the dealer Paul Durand-Ruel was crucial. Paul Durand-Ruel: the Invention of the ‘Entrepreneurial’ Art Dealer For Moulin (1987: 13, 45), Durand-Ruel was the prototype of the ‘entrepreneurial’ art dealer. ‘Entrepreneurial’ as understood here entails the support of new artists and schools of painting by purchases of their work and by efforts on the part of the dealer to secure its critical success. Sympathetic art critics are enlisted in a 'battle against public tastes' (ibid: 15) which increases the value of the dealer’s stock (see also Taylor and Brooke, 1969: 33). In pursuit of this basic strategy Durand-Ruel’s tactics were probably not untypical of the time. He established two critical journals which carried favourable notices of ‘his’ artists. Some of these were authored by himself, albeit without troubling his readers with that fact. As a further means of attaching an aura of cultural value to his stock, he was an early adopter, if not a pioneer, of what Jensen (1994: 59) calls, ‘the re-invention of the commercial gallery as a quasimuseum’. In this, he succeeded to such an extent that the 1900 Baedeker featured the Gallerie Durand-Ruel, complete with opening times and admission fee (ibid.). An habitué of the Parisian auction-houses, DurandRuel was also adept at the art of surreptitiously purchasing paintings from himself. A reviewer of the 1904 Salon d'Automne put it thus: when Durand-Ruel some forty years ago harnessed the first Impressionists to his carriage, he took possession of this movement and since then it has not been delivered from the circle of dealers. In fictive sales, the price [sic] of pictures were raised to swindling heights and held up there.’(Jensen, 1994: 54) White and White (1993: 124-5) describe a manoeuvre in which Durand-Ruel exploited the fact that paintings tend to command a premium if they are from a prestigious collection. In order to take advantage of this, Durand-Ruel arranged for an advance of capital to himself from a banker (one ‘Edwards’). The loan was secured against a number of paintings which were notionally kept by ‘Edwards’ until the time came for them to be marketed as ‘The Edwards Collection’. Thus configured, the arrangement enabled Durand-Ruel to redeem the loan and trouser his share of the profit. Whatever judgment may be made of these practices
International Journal of Literature and Art (IJLA) Volume 1 Issue 2, November 2013 from the standpoint of business ethics, the fact remains that the history of art might have been very different without them. The Discourse of ‘The Impression’ Whatever its outward form, critical writing on art is an act of cultural entrepreneurship. As Carrier (1985: 201) puts it: . . a critic’s statements are less true statements about the art-work than arguments for how we ought to see the work . . .Art criticism is better treated as a form of action than as a description . . . the critic’s rhetoric is a way of inducing beliefs in art-world people, and when critics succeeds, most people come to believe their claims which are therefore true. So it was with the critical supporters of Impressionism. Given the reception of the 1874 exhibition, the task was considerable. Perhaps the most hurtful response was a widely circulated satirical dialogue wherein an onlooker is gradually convinced by advocate of Impressionism but goes insane in the process (Rewald, 1973: 318-324 for the full text). Of the 1876 exhibition Le Figaro wrote: five or six lunatics, among them a woman--a group of unfortunate creatures stricken with the mania of ambition have met here to exhibit their works. ... It is a frightening spectacle of human vanity gone astray to the point of madness Try to make M. Pissarro understand that trees are not violet, that the sky is not the colour of fresh butter, that in no country do we see the things he paints and that no intelligence can accept such aberrations. (Rewald, 1973: 368-9) These accusations of folly and insanity, however, were extremes. The more reasoned complaint – and perhaps the more substantively damaging on that account - was that the works were not paintings at all, but sketches for paintings, that they were simply unfinished. Over two or three decades the critical advocacy of Impressionism succeeded in assimilating these accusations into a new positive vocabulary of appreciation within which these ‘failings’ appeared, not only as the cardinal virtues of a new art, but also as general principles in terms of which the previous tradition of academic painting could be seen as deficient. Much of this vocabulary centered on the meanings which sympathetic critics worked into the term ‘Impressionism’ itself As far as the interested public was concerned the word was first used in a pejorative sense. Monet’s
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improvised title, Impression: Soleil Levant, was picked up by a hostile critic of the 1874 exhibition, for whom both the title and the painting itself exemplified the unfinished nature of the works on display. ‘M. Manet,’ wrote another sceptic, ‘is among those who maintain that in painting one can and ought to be satisfied with the impression.’ (Rewald, 1973: 326). Speaking of his 1867 exhibition, Manet had indeed stated that his aim was ‘to convey his impression’ (Rewald, 1973: 212). As this shows, the term was already beginning to circulate in its modern positive sense within the restricted circle of the Impressionists and their sympathetic critics (Distel, 1990: 58). As Gellner (1970) has pointed out, there are ideological complexes which owe much of their traction to their capacity to reconcile seemingly incompatible desiderata. This was the case with the discourse of ‘The Impression’. It succeeded in fusing two potent ideas in the light of which the ‘unfinished’ nature of the Impressionist canvas appeared as positive virtues: The term ‘impression’ could be associated with individuality if painting was thought of as an imprint left by artist’s true nature on the canvas. But the impression could also be thought of as an unmediated – and therefore truthful – impact of nature on the artist. According to the psychology of the time, the external object could be known only through an impression of it. Thus the impression could be thought of as the basis of all knowledge of a world existing prior to the subjectobject distinction. Once that distinction is made, the impression then appears as the product of an interaction between subject and object. In this way, it is both subjective and objective. (Shiff, 1986: 70) In its ‘objective’ aspect, exposure to the Impression through the medium of art could be valued as a therapeutic reconnection to a primordial reality which is ordinarily hidden beneath the abridgments of routine and the pressures of social convention, not least those of a currently dominant school of art. In its ‘subjective’ aspect the impression could be valued as a rendition of reality produced by a sensibility gifted with more than ordinary sensitivity and insight. In this aspect the idea of the impression readily connects to the idea of the artist as a kind of visionary. The apparent idiosyncratic implications of this could in turn be reconciled with claims of universal significance through a belief in the essential normality of the artist, a doctrine held at the time by no less an authority than Hippolyte Taine, Professor of Aesthetics at École des Beaux Arts (Shiff, 1986: 79) The fusion of these ideas can be seen in a single
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International Journal of Literature and Art (IJLA) Volume 1 Issue 2, November 2013
sentence which Théodore Duret wrote on Manet in 1870: ‘He brings back from the vision he casts on things an impression truly his own: no-one more than he has the sense of the values and of the accent in the colouring of objects.’ (Shiff. 1986: 72, italics added). This reconciliation of incompatibles could also be seen in the actual practice of Impressionist painting, as in this 1876 passage by Mallarmé: As no artist has on his palette a transparent and neutral colour answering to open air, the desired effect can only be obtained by lightness or heaviness of touch or by the regulation of tone. Now Manet and his school use simple colour, fresh and lightly laid on, and their results appear to have been obtained at the first stroke . . and just when the spectator beholds the represented subject, which, being composed of a harmony of reflected and ever-changing lights, cannot be supposed to be always the same, but palpitates with movement, light and life . . That which I preserve through the power of Impressionism is not the material portion which already exists, superior to any mere representation of it, but the delight of having recreated nature touch by touch. (Rewald, 1973: 372-3, Shiff, 1986: 76) By these means the critical advocacy of Impressionism could justify the ‘ineptitudes’ which appeared so risible to the visitors to the early exhibitions. It could enable Castagnary to represent the distortions of Monet and Renoir in the 1874 exhibition as a kind of higher-order accuracy, ‘[These artists] are impressionists in the sense that they render not the landscape but the sensations produced by the landscape.’ (Shiff, 1986: 71) Having thus made positive virtues of the impression in both its aspects, the conventions of academic painting could now be represented as species of untruth. For Baudelaire, realism required that the artist avoid borrowing the eyes and feelings of other persons, ‘for then the production he [sic.] would give us would be, in relation to himself, lies and not realities’ (Shiff, 1986: 72). As will presently appear, such allegations of falsity against currently dominant conventions of art were to develop into a standard trope of ‘progressive’ art. Consuming Ridicule The first three Impressionist exhibitions (1874-1877) were notable for the crowds which came to scoff at the works on display, attracted no doubt by the accusations of incompetence and madness in the popular press. Not yet having learnt to take this as an indicator of future greatness, both the painters and
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their supporters found it extremely distressing. At the third exhibition one Victor Chocqet, a minor collector, took it upon himself to spend his days chasing after the scoffers, challenging them to justify their own behaviour in an attempt to argue them out of their preconceptions (Rewald, 1973:, 392). The more effective response, however, lay in the development of a narrative of the eventual acceptance of misunderstood genius and its application to the case of the Impressionists. According to White and White (1993: 123), this trope, an ‘all too familiar idea to us now’, was not to be found earlier in the 19th century. In 1870, however, Théodore Duret wrote thus of the reception of Manet, ‘Only yesterday, Courbet was ridiculed, yet now people outdo themselves in praising him . . . we shall therefore pause in front of the canvases of M. Manet . .we are surrounded by a crowd and immediately become aware that the good public . . here mocks our original artist precisely because of his originality and invention (White and White, 1993: 123). In a novel published in 1886, Zola expresses the same idea, describing the visitors to an exhibition, most likely modelled on those of 1874-7: ‘They nudged each other, they doubled up . . every canvas had its appreciation, people called each other over to point out a good one, witty remarks were constantly being passed from mouth to mouth . . expressing the sum total of asininity, of absurd commentary, of bad and stupid ridicule that an original work can evoke from bourgeois imbecility’ (quoted in Rewald, 1973: 328) From these beginnings, the petit-bourgeois philistine became a stock figure in the demonology of progressive art, often, in fact, its target and subject matter. As originally deployed in the defence of Impressionism, however, it remained an adjunct to the discursive complex to which it was attached. As the dealer-critic system developed into a social institution, however, offence to bourgeois convention became fully integrated into a general theory of artistic value. Motivators of the Dealer-Critic System Though the dealer-critic system was created in the particular context of French Impressionism it proposed a generalisable social mechanism for the promotion of artistic innovation. Only the particular discourses of critical support needed adaptation. Durand-Ruel’s methods of were adapted to the cause of the Fauves by Ambroise Vollard and of Cubism by Daniel-Henry Khanweiler (later Paul and Leoncé Rosenberg) whilst the appreciative writings of Duranty, Mallarmé and Zola were succeeded by those of Louis Vauxelles
International Journal of Literature and Art (IJLA) Volume 1 Issue 2, November 2013 Appollinaire and Cocteau (Fitzgerald, 1996: 67, 80; Crow, 1996: 30). When, as Clement Greenberg sought to persuade the world at the time, the action moved to New York during the early 1940s, (1947, quoted in Crane 1987: 47) galleries such as Peggy Guggenheim’s ‘Art of the Century’ and Betty Parsons’ exhibited the work of the Abstract Expressionists, to the acclaim of such critics as Greenberg himself and Harold Rosenberg. As a business model, the dealer-critic system spread because it offered the impecunious dealer a means of circumventing the financial barriers to entry. For Ambroise Vollard who first arrived in Paris as a student from the remote French island of La Réunion, the purchase of inexpensive works by unknown artists was the only way of breaking into the art market, and working up the reputation of these artists the only way of growing the business (Vollard, 1936: 25, 47). For this task Vollard’s gregarious and combative temperament was admirably suited and his Recollections of a Picture Dealer is a recommended read for those who wish to understand entrepreneurship as a contact sport (Vollard, 1936). The viability of this ‘entreprenurial’ approach (Moulin, 1987: 37, 50) was also demonstrated by La Peau d'Ours, a collection of contemporary art intended to demonstrate its investment potential. Named for a fable of La Fontaine concerning two young men who sold the skin of a bear without first having procured it, this collection was amassed between the years of 1904 and 1914 by a consortium of thirteen young men of the Parisian leisured class. Purchased at an annual cost of 2,750 francs, the collection, which eventually included major works by Gaugin, Matisse and Picasso, realised 116,545 francs at the end of the ten-year period in a widely-publicised auction - more than four times the total investment (Fitzgerald, 1996: 17, 29, 39, 40). For young artists the attraction of the dealer-critic system lay in the financial and psychological support of a dealer, particularly one who was prepared to buy up the whole of their output in return for a regular stipend. Possibly even more important was the kind of persuasive exposure to a buying public practiced by Durand-Ruel’s successors. Testament to the advantages of the dealer-critic system in these respects were Matisse’s difficulties in arranging for the alternative support of a consortium of private collectors when Vollard refused to stock his work following the unsuccessful one-man show of 1904 (Fitzgerald, 1996: 24). For critics, the system offered a heady sense of active 19
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participation in artistic movements. It is probable that few artists have openly sought the advice of a critic as did Morris Louis with Clement Greenberg, and few critics have claimed to be a full participant in the creative process as has Harold Rosenberg (1976: 142). Nevertheless an active role of any kind in the establishment of new artistic directions is preferable to the ‘eunuch’s shadow’ which Steiner (1967: 21) attributed to the figure of the critic. Imperatives of the Dealer-critic System: Avant-Guardism as Permanent Revolution What does not change / is the will to change (Charles Olson. The Kingfishers) If it was to motivate artistic innovation within an essentially dynamic system, the narrative of strugglefollowed-by-eventual-recognition developed in the defence of Impressionism needed to undergo an important metamorphosis. As it stood, there was nothing in the theory of the Impression which suggested that the innovations associated with it might not be of permanent value. Such a conception of art could never drive a system which depended on stylistic upheaval for its very existence. What the dealer-critic system required was a theory of art which placed innovation at its centre, whilst retaining the Impressionist notion of a fundamental reality perceived through a visionary sensibility. This reconciliation of the fugitive and the permanent and its integration into a storyline of neglect and triumph is one of the signal achievements of avant-gardism. Piet Mondrian speaks: evolution is always the work of pioneers, and their followers are always small in number. This following is not a clique; it is the result of all the existing social forces; it is composed of all those who through innate or acquired capacity are ready to represent the existing degree of human evolution. At a time when so much attention is paid to the “mass”, it is necessary to note that evolution, ultimately, is never the expression of the mass. The mass remains behind yet urges the pioneers to creation. For the pioneers the social contact is indispensable, but not in order that they may know what they are doing is necessary and useful, not in order that “collective approval may help them to persevere and nourish them with living ideas.” This contact is necessary only in an indirect way; it acts especially as an obstacle which increases their determination, the pioneers create through their reaction to external stimuli. They are guided not by the mass but by that which they see and feel. They discover consciously or unconsciously the fundamental laws
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International Journal of Literature and Art (IJLA) Volume 1 Issue 2, November 2013
hidden in reality, and aim at realising them. In this way they serve human development. They know that humanity is not served by making art comprehensible to everybody; to try to do this is to attempt the impossible. One serves mankind by enlightening it. Those who do not see will rebel, they will try to understand and will end up by “seeing.” Piet Mondrian: Plastic Art and Pure Plastic Art (1937). Quoted in Read (1964: 118) In this passage the Impressionist conception of art as the revelation of a reality which is simultaneously objective and yet accessible only through a sensibility particular to the artist is fused with the idea of art as an ongoing revolution achieved by an elect few in the face of, and indeed, inspired by, the hostility of an uncomprehending ‘mass’. To these ideas, the 1912 cubist manifesto of Albert Gleizes and Jean Metzinger adds the notion that the resistance to progressive art stems largely from the hegemony of its currently dominant forms. It is this and not progressive art itself which is responsible for its apparent ugliness and the opposition which that engenders: the crowd long remains the slave of the painted image, and persists in seeing the world only through the adopted sign. That is why any new form seems monstrous, and the most slavish imitations are admired. (in Read, 1964, p. 6.) The idea that an authentic contact with reality can be achieved only through a subversion of existing forms is echoed by Kuspit (1993: 1-13). ‘The modernist conception of the avant-garde is one of openness to primordial experience. The effect on the audience claims to be therapeutic, stripping away the normality of inauthenticity so that things can be experienced in their quiddity’. Rosenberg (1976: 141 ) incorporates this idea of a therapeutic disruption into a theory of the ‘anxious object’: ‘A genuine work has the effect of demolishing styles and images that have turned into visual conventions; in this destructive activity lies its critical and revolutionary role.’ (see also Gablik, 1984, 36). There is a resonance here with Adorno’s (1974) concept of the art object as a disruptor of ‘identity thinking.’ Thus conceived
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, avant-gardism is a theory of
This notion of avant-gardism differs from that of Bürger (1984), for whom authentic avant gardism is defined by a break with the institutions and boundaries of autonomous art animated by the ambition of revolutionising life as a 2
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continual repudiation, a doctrine which holds that authentic art must not only be new but must also repudiate its own immediate past. As Poggioli put it, ‘Whereas classic art had no way of condemning overworn beauty, the typical form of the ugly for the avantgarde is “ex-beauty”, the cliché.’ (1968: 81-2). Once achieved, the current forms of avant garde art rapidly lose their therapeutic impulse and become a ‘neo-avant garde’ which ‘preys on (the avant garde past) like a cynical vulture on a rotten carcass.’ (Kuspit, 1993: 15, 16). It was doubtless this thinking which lay behind Cocteau’s otherwise loutish dismissal of ‘Impressionist decadence’, ‘I say down with Renoir the way I say down with Wagner.’ (Quoted in Fitzgerald, 1994: 97). Conclusions Not all of the writings anthologised by Harrison and Wood’s Art in Theory (1992) originate in the artworld, but the fact that they number over 300 testifies to the frequency with which artists and critics have felt it necessary to announce new directions which, if only by implication, simultaneously repudiate existing forms. The argument of this paper is that the institutional machinery of the dealer critic system is in part responsible for this state of permanent revolution, depending as it does on a constant supply of artworks which can be cheaply acquired, differentiated from established forms and subsequently valorised by the development of appropriate critical vocabularies. Crucial in ensuring the necessary supply of artistic experimentation is an avant-gardist belief that established art forms constitute an obstacle to authenticity together with a narrative of the neglected visionary which encourages young artists to view their work as a search for a personal revelation of objective truth and which inures them against the hardships likely to precede the hoped-for recognition. Such a conclusion does not imply that the commitments which drive this institutional complex are less than sincere, though that is an ever-present possibility. It is suggested, rather, that the dealer-critic whole. In these terms, Bürger can write of the failure of avant-gardism, of a neo-avant-garde whose works, and manfestos have been re-assimilated into the very institutions which the authentic avant guarde set out to destroy. The fact of this failure speaks against Bürger’s restricted definition of the term. The artworld continues to be characterised by continual innovation and the millenarial ambitions which Bürger thought to be definitive of avant gardeism could be regarded as just one of the many critical vocabularies which have accompanied these innovations.
International Journal of Literature and Art (IJLA) Volume 1 Issue 2, November 2013 system and its associated discursive formations either select those who can sincerely commit to them, or that they are instrumental in forming these sincerities in the course of tertiary socialization. Either way, there is a sense in which avant-gardism, as well as French Impressionism, is a legacy of Paul Durand-Ruel.
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Rationality, edited by Bryan R. Wilson, Oxford: Blackwell, 1970. Harrison, Charles and Paul Wood. Art in Theory, 1900-1990: an Anthology of Changing Ideas, Oxford: Blackwell, 1992. Jensen, Robert. Marketing Modernism in Fin de Siècle Europe, Princeton New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1994.
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