| DOSE: T+ 0:00 |
1 tablet |
oral |
Hydrocodone |
|
| T+ 0:15 |
1 tablet |
oral |
Hydrocodone |
|
| T+ 0:00 |
1 glass |
oral |
Stipa robusta |
(tea) |
Lets start with some background info I'm a small dude long hair very skinny... Bipolar depressed and 14 yrs old... So my father has been passing kidney stones and was prescribed hydrocodone... So I took a pill to relax (I was pissed from a breakup earlier that day). Now I dont really do drugs just pot... Looooots of pot but not lately... After about 15 mins. I thought I would have been feeling sumthing but I wasnt... So I took another pill... About a half hour later I felt strange (like floating) I felt invincible like an ogre or sumthing... I was reading about sleepy grass and wanted to check it out so I went outside and found some (I live in new mexico) I found some and looked it up on the net to make sure... I was right I made some tea with it and drank a glass...
  It started to rotate to the left and I couldnt figure out why.   The phone rang about 30 seconds after I got up...I thought people were screaming at me. (very strange feeling) after I got some food I went to lay down in my room. As I watched tv I felt a great euphoria take over I felt like I was floating on my bed I liked it too. As I was watching cartoons I felt like being in one too.

Some of the activities described are dangerous and/or illegal and none are recommended by Erowid.


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| Class | Description |
|---|---|
| AdapterLogger |
Class providing GUI components and method for adapter to write in three types of log:
- "Adapter's Log" - global messages by adapter and it's sensors - "To Be Sent Log" - showing unsent messages - "Error Log" - showing errors that occurred on adapter and it's sensors Also provides logs buffering to given file. |
| MessageTracker |
Class providing methods to count and save number unsent and sent messages by adapter.
|
| TextAreaAppender |
Class used as plugin by log4j2 to use GUI component
TextArea as output. |


The complete set of 634 icons in Font Awesome 4.6.3 License: MIT License. You can use it for commercial projects, open source projects, or really just about whatever you want


The Breakdown Of git vs. GitHub
2nd Nov, 2014
Version Control vs. git vs. Github can be a bit tricky to nail down, but I often find that analogies help me to solidify murky ideas. The best one I have come across is that of a video game.
First let's start from the bottom ("now we here" #Drake), when you are coding, it is important that you save all of your work on a semi frequent basis. In programming jargon, each of these saves is called a commit. Version control is a fancy way of describing a log of each one of these commits or saves. Git is simply a version control tool. So it enables version control on your computer, so that you can make those saves. (Git also does other things, but we will focus on just the saves for now)
Ok, so what about that video game analogy that I promised. We all remember playing Donkey Kong when we were younger right? Remember the level where you are on the rollercoaster, and you are trying to pick up all the bananas along the way while not falling off any off the jumps? Well that level took me forever to beat, but after having made a little progress, the game would save my spot as a checkpoint, so that each time I died, instead of making me start from the very beginning, I could start from that checkpoint that had been saved. Essentially the game was adding a commit after a bit of work, so that I could go back to that spot and edit my approach. That is version control in action. I don't think that Donkey Kong was using git to do this, but you get the point!
Now that we have version control down, let's focus on how it relates to GitHub. GitHub is in fact a hub of code, that lets other people see and work on your code. They can make copies of your code and work on it from their own computer (by forking your repository) or you can both work on different parts of your work by editing seperate branches.
You can think of GitHub as a score board for your video game checkpoints. Except in this case, other people can begin the game from your checkpoints and edit the approach themselves. Pretty cool huh!
GitHub is extremely benefical for programmers for many reasons. For one, it allows programmers to work seemlessly on a team, because each teammate is able to edit portions of code without undoing the work another teammate. GitHub also allows others to be able to check your work before you merge it to master. This can help avoid pushing code that has bugs, to a live view. GitHub also makes visible the changes that were made to the original code by both you and your teammates, so that you don't have to go back and search for what you've edited. This is also a good reason to be sure to leave good messages for each commit so that you and your teammates know exactly what you meant to change with each save.
Alrighty, I think you've got it now!
melissawimberly signing off...


Tom Jones says sick pal Little Richard, 86, still sings down the phone to him
EXCLUSIVE: Tom Jones is in regular contact with the 86-year-old Lucille star and, although a hip op has left him nearly bedridden, he's in fine spirits
by Halina Watts, https://www.mirror.co.uk/authors/halina-watts/When music legend Little Richard has a whole lotta achin’ going on he knows just what to do to ease it.
The 86-year-old star loves chatting to one of his biggest fans – Sir Tom Jones – and singing to him down the phone.
The Voice judge revealed Little Richard’s bizarre therapy was not so much Rip It Up as hip it up as he tries to take his mind off a broken joint.
He said the godfather of rock ’n’ roll, who hasn’t performed for six years, is “not so well” physically but is still in fine voice.
“He busted his hip and it hasn’t fixed properly so I went to see him in Tennessee,” says Sir Tom, 79.
“I’ve called him up from time to time to ask how he is. He sang Strange Things Happening Every Day on the phone. It sounded great.
"I told him I always finish my show with that song and he told whoever was in the room, ‘Oh my soul. Tom Jones does that song every night’.”
Sir Tom is now working on an album to mark his 80th birthday next year. He says: “I am looking into meaningful songs.
"They are covers, but interesting as I’ve got a big birthday coming up.
“It’s about time that I got some good songs in that are good for my age now rather than trying to be something I was 50 years ago.”


Though little remarked since its occurrence, an event that took place on 7 October 1915 in New York city bears considerable significance for our understanding of the rapport between the historical avant-garde and modern commodity culture. On that day the Modern Gallery, located at 500 Fifth Avenue, opened its doors for its first exhibition. Created by Marius de Zayas, Francis Picabia, Agnes Ernst Meyer, and other young members of Alfred Stieglitz's 291 entourage, the Modern Gallery was conceived of as the commercial "expression" of the famous "spirit of 291." That firmly avant-garde res such as de Zayas and Picabia would feel Stieglitz's pioneering modern art venue required an openly commercial off-shoot may seem strange, since current consensus tells us that such artists ought to have sardonically opposed the commodification of the art object, or at least been highly ambivalent on the subject. 1 But of course the strangeness of this development is precisely why it is worth recounting and analyzing. The story of how the commercial Modern Gallery emerged out of the declining anti-commercialism of Stieglitz's Little Galleries of the Photo Secession at 291 Fifth Avenue offers key insights into the surprisingly optimistic nature of the avant-garde's engagement with the modern fact of commodification and the powerful attraction exerted by machine-age American commodity culture on the aesthetic and institutional imaginations of both European and American avant-garde artists of the time. The fact of this attraction to commodity culture puts into question the widely held belief that the historical avant-garde sought to change "life" through "art": in New York, avant-garde artists sought artistic direction from the machine-age life around them, so that "art" was shaped by "life"--both in aesthetics and its institutional arenas; for res such as de Zayas and Picabia, the primary motivation behind the artistic and institutional work of the New York avant-garde was the desire to be absolutely contemporary with, rather than in opposition to, modern society as emblematized by New York's commodity culture.
The Modern Gallery opened within the context of Alfred Stieglitz's decline as pioneering avant-garde impresario and institution builder and the contemporaneous expansion of the market for modernist art in New York. Stieglitz's magazine Camera Work and his 291 gallery came to an end in the summer of 1917 after a steady decline in activity that began just after the 1913 International Exhibition of Modern Art, known as the Armory Show. Though scholars have offered numerous reasons for this decline, the primary one is the failure of Stieglitz's long-standing anti-commercial strategy for coping with post-Armory Show modernist art market expansion. That strategy was now replaced by another advanced by the de Zayas-Picabia group, one much better adapted to the post-Armory Show atmosphere because of its optimistic belief that art's commodification could afford the avant-garde the opportunity to "pay its own way" as a contemporary expression of the energies animating modern American society.
Camera Work, originally a quarterly, appeared sporadically after the Armory show until, from the summer of 1914 to its final number in June 1917, only three slim issues appeared. When it ceased publication it had only thirty-eight subscribers. 2 During this same period, Stieglitz became far less active in his pursuit of significant new artists for exhibition at 291. Showings centered primarily on works by artists already familiar to the 291 public, such as John Marin, Marsden Hartley, and Abraham Walkowitz; significant ground-breaking exhibitions at 291 were organized not by Stieglitz but by the younger de Zayas. (De Zayas was a Mexican-American caricaturist and collector who established contacts between 291 and members of the Parisian avant-garde, particularly those associated with Guillaume Apollinaire's review Les Soirées de Paris; his expositions at 291 included the "African Savage Art" show of 1914 and the U.S. debut of Italian Futurist Gino Severini in 1917.) Even the two notable debuts that Stieglitz himself arranged--the 1916 debut of his protégé, the photographer Paul Strand, and Georgia O'Keefe's debut the following year--testify to a turn in the period following the Armory Show from his previous emphasis on both American and European modern art to a nativist focus on American art alone, especially American art originating within the 291 circle.
Stieglitz scholars have typically explained this decline in activity by refering to developments in his personal life: in 1917 Steiglitz was fifty-three, in serious debt, and tired from fourteen years of publishing Camera Work and nine years of operating 291 (SMB, 127). While these no doubt contributed to Stieglitz's withdrawal, the primary reason for his retreat from his position as New York's foremost champion of the international avant-garde was the awkward double bind in which he found himself after the Armory Show. While the show confirmed his visionary, truly avant-garde stature as a crusader for modern art, its popularization of that art paradoxically ensured that his vision was no longer unique. As William I. Homer notes, between 1913 and 1917, "291 [came to be] rivaled by the Daniel, Carroll, Washington Square (later Coady), Montross, and Bourgeois galleries, along with The Modern Gallery." Further, several clubs and exhibition societies put on important exhibits in these years, while avant-garde journals such as The Seven Arts and The Soil came to occupy territory that had previously been Camera Work's exclusive domain. 3 Stieglitz, despite the expansion of the New York modern art scene, failed to gain new subscribers to the journal or substantially increase attendance at 291.
Why did Stieglitz interpret the evident success of his vision as a loss of uniqueness, and what relation did this have to his inability to attract more attention? The question is important. Stieglitz, after all, might have viewed this loss of exclusivity as the affirmation of his originality. But in his view the expanding popularity of modernist art was driven by fashion on the mass level and investment strategies at the level of collecting and dealing. It betrayed the "spirit of 291." Stieglitz wanted people to admire the work "in terms of spiritual force, not as a material commodity," and at times he would complain, "Work isn't art until enough noise is made about it, until someone rich comes along and buys it." 4 His legendary anti-commercialism, often portrayed as eccentric or amusing before the Armory Show, was now putting him in danger of being left behind. 5
Stieglitz made one last effort to adapt his aesthetic idealism and the institutions he had developed according to that idealism to the booming war-time avant-garde art scene. It occurred in the years 1915-1916 in the form of a dual experiment: first, Stieglitz agreed to be a partner in the publication of an avant-garde review called 291, proposed by Paul Haviland, Marius de Zayas, and Agnes Meyer; and second, he consented to connect his anti-commercial 291 gallery with Marius de Zayas's openly commercial Modern Gallery. This episode within the history of 291 demonstrates a larger, important historical shift in the institutional structure supporting modernist art in America. This shift was from an aesthetic and institutional framework of values grounded in a notion of the sanctity of the act of creation and the object created, and the artist's privilege to select an audience, to another framework that involves a satirical, transgressive attitude towards this idealized sanctity and a more ambivalent and de-personalized relationship between artist and public. 6 The latter framework did not, of course, replace the former once and for all at a discrete moment in history; but it became more vital and, correspondingly, more visible in the New York art world during and immediately after the war. 7 The idealists, like Stieglitz, remained a strong presence, but no longer held the authoritative leadership role they had once occupied; their elitist vision of the role of modern art in American society could not recover fully from the attack it had sustained from the anti-idealist aesthetic.
In the final pages of the October 1916 issue of Camera Work, Stieglitz announces at one and the same time the undertaking of the 291/Modern Gallery experiment and its results. 8 Under the title "'291' and The Modern Gallery," he reprints the announcement--first published in the October 1915 issue of 291 (no.9)--of the 7 October 1915 opening of the Modern Gallery. The reprinted announcement states that the Modern Gallery would in no way alter the famous "spirit" of 291: "The Modern Gallery is but an additional expression of '291.'" After the reprinted announcement, Stieglitz reports that it had originally been planned to distribute a circular, one that would explain in greater detail the relationship between the two galleries and the reasons for creating the new gallery, but that it had been "withheld because '291' felt it owed no explanations to anyone, and the above [announcement] was substituted in its stead." It is important to note, if only in passing, that this substitution, the insistence on the quasi-scientific nature of this "experiment," and the article's overall tone of hostile reticence constitute a refusal to engage in promotional advertising.
Now, however, in October 1916, several months since The Modern Gallery and 291 have parted ways, Stieglitz has decided that "the course of events necessitates a recording in Camera Work [of] the genesis of the Modern Gallery." He publishes the withheld circular, laying out the hypothesis behind the experiment--that the post-Armory show climate might be favorable to avant-garde commercial success--and then reports the results:
Mr. De Zayas, after experimenting for three months on the lines contemplated, found that practical business in New York and '291' were incompatible. In consequence he suggested that '291' and the Modern Gallery be separated. The suggestion automatically constituted a separation.
Despite Stieglitz's matter-of-fact tone, it is obvious from the content of the reprinted circular and from what we know about how Stieglitz ran 291 that the actual reason for the separation had to do with Stieglitz's anti-commericalism. As stated in the circular, the most important goal in opening The Modern Gallery was to enable artists (those of the 291 circle and, especially, Europeans suffering from Europe's collapsed war-time art market) to make a living from their work--to "pay their own way," as de Zayas was fond of saying. This goal may sound unremarkable, since the primary purpose of galleries since the 19th century has been to turn a profit for artists and gallery owners. But within the context of 291, the sole venue for international modern art in America up to this period, it signalled a radical change of direction. Prior to the Armory Show, Stieglitz had done little to promote the sale of work of the 291 circle because he saw his role as spiritual nurturer of creative genius, not as dealer. True art, according to Stieglitz, is created as a composite spiritual and scientific search for truth that cannot be compromised by conventions of taste imposed by the marketplace. 9
Sometimes Stieglitz did allow his painters to sell their work, but only if the transaction was completed without regard for market conventions: Stieglitz believed that to remain aesthetically pure, the artist ought never to allow the anticipation of a sale to play a role in the creation of a work (SMB, 132). Specific commissions were thus ruled out, though Stieglitz often secured loans for painters like Hartley, Marin, and Dove against their future production. 10 According to observers, when an exhibition viewer proposed the purchase of a work, Stieglitz scrutinized the would be owner in order to determine whether he was worthy of the work. Worthiness was conferred only if the prospective purchaser could convince Stieglitz he was unable to live without the piece (LL, 134; AS, 259; HWW, 81). The slightest hint of a speculative interest might cause Stieglitz to double the price of the work. After 1913 Stieglitz became even more anti-commercial as he learned of the dishonest business practices of some of the New York galleries that sprang up after the Armory Show (AS, 173; ASAS, 119).
De Zayas's intention with the Modern Gallery was to end the economic suffering of the 291 artists caused by the combination of Stieglitz's anti-commercial institutional philosophy and other galleries' "dishonest commercialism"; the solution was to "bring the producers of these works . . . into business touch with the purchasing public on terms of mutual justice and mutual self-respect." 11 De Zayas and his partners felt that if 291 were to remain artistically alive, it would have to "evolve" as an institution with respect to the larger contemporary network of economic and industrial relations that composed the post-Armory Show art world and, indeed, machine-age American life in general. They did not share Stieglitz's view that such an evolution would lead inevitably to the corruption of an artist's originality or genius:
We feel that the phase of our work which has resulted in arousing an interest in contemporary art in America has reached a point where, if it is to fulfill itself, it must undertake the affirmative solution of a problem which it has already negatively solved. We have already demonstrated that it is possible to avoid commercialism by eliminating it. But this demonstration will be infertile unless it be followed by another: namely, that the legitimate function of commercial intervention--that of paying its own way while bringing the producers and consumers of art into a relation of mutual service--can be freed from the chicanery of self-seeking. . . . It is the purpose of the Modern Gallery to further, by these means, the development of contemporary art both here and abroad, and to pay its own way by reasonable charges. 12
The Modern Gallery was thus conceived as a commercial and intellectual center where the New York public, with its new post-Armory show consciousness about modern art, could bridge the previously existing gulf between contemporary art and American society (HWW, 93, 191). This new consciousness, characterized by an urban cultural vision common to artist and public, made possible "a relation of mutual justice and mutual self-respect" between artist and New York public.
Stieglitz consented to compromise his ideals and enter into association
with the Modern Gallery mostly out of concern for the economic security
of his artist friends
--severely over-extended, he was barely able to continue paying
out the stipends he had for some time been distributing to the 291
artists.
13
These practical concerns, however, could not
outweigh his profound disgust for business talk, which made up too much
of the atmosphere at the Modern Gallery for his taste. In late December
of 1915, Stieglitz broke off the relationship between 291 and the Modern
Gallery.
14
Such financial and interpersonal differences form the surface of what was really a much deeper disagreement between the two parties concerning the relationship between modernist artists and American society. Stieglitz took an elitist stance, arguing that there was an essential intellectual gulf between advanced modern artists and the lagging society around them, while de Zayas posited the contemporaneity of artist and public. The two sides demonstrated these opposing views in their respective aesthetic and institutional philosophies.
Stieglitz's ideas about the relationship between modern art and American society are in their most consistent form European secessionist ideas. 15 What makes Stieglitz unique is that he held these secessionist ideas in tandem with strong opinions about the role for representation in modernist, post-photography painting. As an alternative to the academic tradition of juried salon shows and its accompanying notions of taste and propriety, Stieglitz created an independent group, the Photo-Secession, which was devoted to photography based upon self-generated standards formed through independent-minded criticism in magazines such as his Camera Notes and Camera Work. The work produced was displayed in non-juried shows held in independent spaces such as his Little Galleries of the Photo-Secession. This path had been blazed by the French Impressionists and other Independents, and by the German and Austrian Secessionists, in the second half of the nineteenth century (LL, 128; ASP, 52; SMA, 129-130). 16 But because Stieglitz believed that photography, when properly done, ought to be considered of the same artistic stature as the plastic arts, he went beyond nineteenth century secessionism. In particular, his belief that sharp-focus pictorial photography was at the very least equal in artistic value to realistic representation in painting went hand-in-hand with his belief that the abstract, non-representational aesthetics of modern European art were the key to new discoveries in human thought and imagination. 291 and Camera Work were to be unique laboratories in which Americans could observe the latest advances and experiments in both objective (through photography exhibits) and subjective (through exhibits of modernist art) thought and artistic expression. Stieglitz's unique understanding of the relationship between photography and plastic art thus enabled him almost single-handedly to revolutionize the American art world in a way that his anti-academic contemporaries the Progressives, including the Ash Can school artists, had been unable to do. The Armory Show ratified Stieglitz's revolutionary and technology-based embrace of non-representational art, making plain to the public the enormous difference in aesthetic sophistication between the American Progressives and European modernists like Picasso, Braque, Matisse, and Duchamp (ASAS, 241).
In pre-Armory Show New York, the art Stieglitz showed at 291 was so new and, frequently, incomprehensible to the public (and often to Stieglitz and members of the 291 circle themselves) that, institutionally speaking, it was beyond the bounds of even the existing independent art market. The institutional support for such art could not, therefore, depend principally upon sales. Stieglitz used terms like "the spirit of 291" as shorthand to refer to the way in which he connected original artists such as Marin, Hartley, Dove, Walkowitz, Picabia, and O'Keefe, among others, with the monetary support of the few patrons and collectors of avant-garde art in America at the time. 17 The manner in which 291 as an institution connected artists and art works with a supportive public exemplifies the fact that the genesis of this period's economic market for modernist art was never grounded in simple economics; it was always to a great extent based in a mystical faith in experimentation as a sign of progress towards artistic truth, and thus relied upon decidedly uneconomic ways of thinking. Individuals who patronized the artists of 291 idealized notions of craftsmanship and creative genius, and the atmosphere of 291 served as a referent for those ideals, a place where, through the work and talk of the community gathered there, a unique truth seemed to come into existence. 18 In such an atmosphere the artists and art objects took on a composite sacred and scientific aura that separated them from and rendered them superior to the outside culture's values of popularity and/or commercial success.
I am using the word "aura" to describe the atmosphere for avant-garde/modernist art Stieglitz created at 291 because I want to take issue with the way this term has been used to describe the intentions of the historical avant-garde ever since Benjamin first used it in his essay "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction." Bürger and Huyssen have refined the term, eliminating its faulty "pseudomaterialist" account of cause and effect: abandoning Benjamin's base-superstructure model, they emphasize instead the historical avant-garde artist's conscious intention to destroy the aura of his works, noting that the mechanical means for doing so often didn't even exist at the time (TAG, 34; AGD, 10). But avant-garde and modernist art in New York raises problems for this use of the term, insofar as Stieglitz completely contradicts Benjamin's theory, even in its refined form: Stieglitz was an avant-garde re who at one and the same time devoted himself to the artistic use of the latest technology, both in photography and printing, yet was a firm believer in the modernist artist as genius-creator of works of transcendental power valued for their originality, authenticity, craftsmanship, and, unsurprisingly, ultimate incomprehensibility. Describing Stieglitz's attitude, de Zayas wrote:
It would be a mistake to think that Stieglitz's purpose and objective was to make people understand modern art. . . . Stieglitz believed and had faith in something he did not know and had he known it, he would not have believed in it. . . . The exhibitions of modern art and pictorial photography were only the flesh and bones of the 'Spirit [of 291]' for everybody to see but only for the very few selected ones to understand. . . . In Stieglitz's hands modern art had transcendental value. [HWW, 84-85]
Benjamin's opposition between mass-produced machine or print reproduction on the one hand and artistic authenticity on the other never occured to Stieglitz.
In using the term "aura" to describe the atmosphere at the undeniably avant-garde 291, I want to show how the standard emphasis on the destruction of aura as the most significant accomplishment of the avant-garde obscures a more important issue, that of the avant-garde's desire for contemporaneity. The significance of the clash between Stieglitz's aesthetic and institutional philosophy and the de Zayas-Picabia aesthetic and institutional philosophy lies not so much in what it reveals about the avant-garde's desire to destroy (bourgeois) art's aura as in the belief on the part of de Zayas and Picabia that Stieglitz's brand of avant-gardism was preventing modernist art from becoming fully contemporary with American society. The perceived need for the Modern Gallery grew out of the sense that the role of machines in American life revealed something about American culture's quintessential modernity. Given a truly modern society, then, de Zayas, following Picabia, believed that artists in America needed only to find the appropriate aesthetic and institutional form to express this modernity. Once they had found the proper form, they would produce work worthy of the time and milieu. What I am describing, then, is actually the inverse of Bürger's claim that, historically, "the intention of the avant-gardiste may be defined as the attempt to direct toward the practical the aesthetic experience (which rebels against the praxis of life) that Aestheticism developed" (TAG, 34). As will become apparent, American commodity culture became the standard of modernity against which the post-Armory show New York avant-garde measured its work. 19
Stieglitz's post-Armory Show turn inward to emphasize purity and aesthetic idealism at 291 indicates that he felt that the popularity of modern art generated by the show had disrupted and undermined this faith in an aura of truth surrounding the 291 art works and their creators (AS, 173). The event that confirmed Stieglitz in his retreat into idealism was the failure (from Stieglitz's point of view) of the 291/Modern Gallery experiment. Through a return to the penultimate issue of Camera Work I now would like to show that what was at stake in Stieglitz's brief partnership with the 291 review and the Modern Gallery was nothing less than Stieglitz's auracular aesthetic and institutional philosophy. For just as the institutional philosophy of the 291 gallery was in many ways of a piece with the aesthetic beliefs propounded there, so too was the commercial institutional philosophy of the Modern Gallery associated with an aesthetic. Stieglitz realized this fact, as evidenced by his editorial decision to follow the article discussed above, "'291' and the Modern Gallery," with a reprint of a de Zayas article, from the July-August 1915 issue (no. 5-6) of 291.
"New York n'a pas vu d'abord/ New York did not see at first" concludes the famous issue consisting of five mechanomorphic drawings created by Francis Picabia in New York in 1915. When viewed in the context of its entire run, this issue of 291 stands out as the review's most focused and programatic number. De Zayas' article denounces Stieglitz's 291 philosophy as inadequate to the current relationship between modern art and its New York public, and proclaims a new aesthetic-institutional framework to replace it. Subsequent issues of 291 were primarily taken up with explaining or extrapolating from the ideas expressed in this issue.
Picabia's five drawings are mechanomorphic portraits of, in order, Stieglitz, Picabia himself, Agnes Ernst Meyer, de Zayas, and Paul Haviland. Taken as a group, these portraits or caricatures demystify their subjects on at least two levels. Beginning with the first of the portraits ( 1), "Ici, c'est ici Stieglitz/ Foi et Amour" depicts a broken camera whose bellows droops away from the subject before its lens, the word "IDEAL" printed in German Gothic script. The fatigued or impotent lens is accompanied by an automobile gear-shift and brake handle in the background that are somehow attached to the camera. The collage-like combination of these two components communicates a general sense of sexualized mechanical breakdown--not only is the camera useless for picture-taking, but the gear-shift (whatever its relation to the camera) is in the neutral position, and the brake is set in the parked or stopped position. 20
The mechanomorphic drawing associated with de Zayas is a similarly strange mechanism ( 2), though it communicates a mechanized sexual vigor that the limp lens does not. This is a key difference, as we shall see. The drawing is difficult to interpret because the particular personal episodes in de Zayas' life to which the drawing may refer remain a mystery. At least three scholars have put forward interpretations of this drawing, but none identifies all the drawing's components or provides a fully convincing account of how the machine works. Dickran Tashjian sees at the upper left a coin-operated sighting device, common on the sea-shore, directing the gaze to a suspended female corset (SP, 39). Camfield convincingly shows that this drawing (as well as others) is derived mostly from advertisements using schematic diagrams of electrical systems (FP, . 105, 110) which Picabia adapted so as to connect the corset (moving clockwise from the upper left) "by a line from the region of the heart to what appears to be a gigantic spark plug, a hand crank, and two automobile headlights (lower left and right) with a female plug between them that eventually connects (as does the hand crank) at the point of sex on the corset" (FP, 84).
I want to supplement these helpful accounts by considering how the text of this piece may help to clarify the relationship between the sighting device and the corset contraption. In the upper right corner are the words "J'AI VU et c'est de toi qu'il s'agit" ["I SAW and this [i.e. this 'portrait'] is about you"]; at the lower left are the words "DE ZAYAS! DE ZAYAS! JE SUIS VENU SUR LES RIVAGES DU PONT-EUXIN," above which is depicted the sun setting over water. The latter bit of text is based on Ovid's poem of exile, the Tristia (it most closely resembles V.ii., lines 63-64). But the alteration of the text seems important: whereas Ovid always accompanies his evocations of the Euxine (the savage shores of the Black Sea, site of his unhappy exile) with adjectives such as "sinister," "formless," or "ill-omened," Picabia leaves out any such description. Picabia's 1915 return to New York is red, then, as an exile on a strange shore, but free of complaint or lamentation. Indeed, if it is Picabia who, shipboard, is looking through the sighting device (as the "J'ai vu" seems to suggest) and crying out "De Zayas, De Zayas!" as he approaches shore, the sight he sees is a mechanized peep show, a vision of a girating "fille née sans mère" set into motion by de Zayas' efforts on behalf of modern art. 21 It might be that this sight gives a jolt to Picabia's imagination by way of the spark plug, illuminating in him (hence the headlights) the insight, key at this time in his career, that the world of art is a desire-fueled machine of the same order as the American car industry Picabia so admired.
Though many details remain mysterious, it is clear that the mechanomorphic structure depicted here, like the one caricaturing Stieglitz, offers a humorous commentary on its subject, in which sex, machines, and art play a role. The de Zayas portrait presents a machine that, though hardly sleek or refined, functions vigorously (at least on paper), contrasting with the malfunctioning Stieglitz portrait. Taken in conjunction with the portrait that precedes "De Zayas! De Zayas!," the drawing of the [Begin Page 78] spark-plug ( 3) entitled "Portrait d'une jeune fille américaine dans l'état de nudité" ["Portrait of an American girl in the state of nudity"], the viewer is confirmed in the overall impression that artistic creativity is a function of mechanized sexual desire, red in these works by jolting, grinding, and jerking chains of cause and effect. 22 This mechanized and sexualized creativity is not transcendent in its passion; it never attains satisfaction or release. The word "For-ever" on the spark-plug, for instance, parodies loving devotion, the source of comfort and consistency in any relationship. "For-ever" here becomes a slogan advertising the consistent efficacy of a nude American girl for firing up the strange engine of sexual desire, a constant jolt driving the artist to express himself; he does so in terms of brakes and gear-shifts which engage to produce constant erotic agitation, without guarantee of eventual release or relaxation.
The remaining drawings continue the theme: the inscription under the lamp portraying Paul Haviland ( 4), "La poésie est comme lui" ["Poetry is like him"], professes the idealist aesthete's quasi-religious conception of poetry as the secular light of the world, a sentiment parodically overshadowed by the fact that the soldier-shaped lamp in the drawing is not only unplugged but unpluggable--it is literally missing its plug. Finally, Picabia's self-portrait ( 5) employing a car horn positioned against what appears to be the cross-section of an automobile cylinder and spark plug suggests that the only efficiently working machine depicted in this series is one that calls attention to itself, "blowing its own horn," as Maria Lluïsa Borràs has remarked. 23 The inscription Picabia includes, "Le Saint des Saints/ C'est de moi qu'il s'agit dans ce portrait," suggests through its ironic conflation of the divine ("The Holy of Holies") with the artist and the machine that the traditional hierarchy of creators creating in their respective images may in modern society ultimately reduce to a schematic blueprint for a machine that operates without regard for distinctions between divine, spiritual, and industrial registers of creation.
These captioned images, then, taken as a whole, can be read as an effort to demystify Stieglitz's ideal of art as the emanation of genius complete unto itself; they replace the transcendental satisfaction of creative desire with blueprints expressing creativity as a mechanized eroticism without an off button. This contrasts with Stieglitz's photographs of nudes, as well as those he chose to print in Camera Work by other photographers, all of which are steeped in a symbolist aesthetic of the transcendance of erotic desire through artistic beauty. At another aesthetic or formal level, Picabia's drawings challenge even further the notion of the artist as creative genius because they are composed almost entirely of what we now call found objects. The camera, circuitry schematics, spark-plug, lamp, and car horn are all copied from trade catalogues or advertisements, while the captions are in many cases taken from the pink pages of the Petit Larousse, the section of that dictionary where famous phrases from other languages (primariy Latin and Greek) are translated into French. 24 Creativity has of course not been expunged from these pieces simply through the use of found objects and phrases. But the nature of this particular creativity is quite different from that held in high esteem by Stieglitz. There is a clever, parasitic quality to this aesthetic that runs against the grain of the 291 aesthetic.
To be sure, Stieglitz enjoyed poking fun at art critics, the public, and even himself, but usually in a way that made him out to be the master casting pearls before swine. Stieglitz's idea of satire was to highlight the public's overwhelming stupidity and need for guidance in matters of art: the artist or avant-garde impresario was never satirized, only the public. An example of what he felt was a satirical "experiment" involved his refusal to promote the sale of the last issue of 291, in which his famous photograph "The Steerage" was reproduced. His idea was that by not advertising, one would be able to gauge what the "American people would do when left to themselves." The "satire" came after the issue's unsurprisingly dismal sales, when he decided to have a rag picker come to take away the eight thousand unsold copies of the photograph, including the deluxe prints: he would go ironically along with the public in its stupidity, throwing away two dollar copies of a print that "an official of a Berlin museum had been willing to pay a hundred dollars for" (ASAS, 127).
Picabia's parodic creativity is different because, rather than resisting machine-age commodity culture through an exalted act of supersession, he parodically employs its very images and logic--in these drawings, man has been replaced by his own creation, the machine, which achieves and fails in precisely the same way he does, only more transparently, because stripped of any veil of idealism. In this way art functions in parallel with the industrial economy. The conjunction of image and inscription lays symbolically bare the erotic essence of machine age modernity as Picabia envisions it. Picabia says as much in an October, 1915 interview with The New York Tribune: the machine and the commodity culture it symbolizes are "more than a mere adjunct of life. [The machine] is really a part of human life--perhaps its very soul." 25 As such, machines necessarily dictate the direction of his very artistic project. He goes on to say that he "doesn't know what possibilities may be in store" for this project; this is because, as a kind of machine himself, he cannot place himself at an ideal point outside the mechanism and view his trajectory.
Picabia's embrace of the objects and commodity logic of the machine-age, as represented in his mechanomorphic aesthetic, entails an institutional corollary, one that admits the buying and selling of art objects as a legitimate enterprise. The art object that is created out of the industrial world of commodified machines, indeed as one of those commodities, renders meaningless the definition of artistic purity as the operation of the creative genius in a space untouched by considerations of popularity or financial success. Picabia views his two-dimensional machines as part and parcel of the larger universe of three-dimensional machines, a universe encompassing humans and all the objects they make. 26 I don't believe that Picabia's intention in these drawings was merely to create something saleable. My point is that the truth value of this work exists on a different plane from that sanctioned by Stieglitz. Instead of being positively articulated in the recognition of the sanctified originality of the canvas, Picabia's artistic truth reveals itself in the comic, negative recognition afforded by the mechanomorphic image. This image negates the idealistic viewer's belief in a higher realm of art with a schematic diagram of the mechanized workings of human erotic desire, including the mechanism of artistic creation itself. What de Zayas characterized in the Modern Gallery's prospectus as Stieglitz's "negative solution" to the problem of commercialism--its elimination--has been replaced with a new solution, the destruction of idealism built into the work in a way that, paradoxically, renders the issue of commercialism of secondary importance. Whether the artist is compensated or not for his effort in creating this negative recognition is beside the point, because the power of the negative recognition will not be changed by the buying or selling of the piece. The piece is thus fertile in its erotic infertility, its refusal of transcendence. 27 The negative recognition is built into the parodic logic of the representation, which itself is simply a machine among machines, rather than an "art object" per se. The effect of the negative recognition is not dependent upon an aura surrounding the work that must be protected from unworthy buyers who may not respect it. Thus, the effect on the viewer of Picabia's machine art can thrive in a different institutional framework than Stieglitz's idealistic enclave.
The de Zayas-Haviland-Meyer group heralded Picabia's machine art as the product of a new aesthetic-institutional practice that could renew the vitality of 291. It is difficult to determine the nuances of the group's understanding of this new aesthetic because it did not publish close analyses of the mechanomorphic drawings. But there is no doubt that its members understood the institutional consequences and economic ramifications of the mechanomorphic aesthetic--de Zayas' use of sexual metaphors to describe Picabia's effect on American culture attests to that.
Why was open commercialism a consequence of this aesthetic? The 291 group understood Picabia's mechanomorphic art broadly as a celebration of the machine, which they took to be an emanation of the objectively modern essence of America. Paul Haviland writes an editorial to this effect in the very next issue of 291. 28 De Zayas, in the 291 article which follows Picabia's five drawings, uses this link between the machine, objectivity, and American modernity to comment upon and, ultimately, criticize Stieglitz's work at the 291 gallery. He begins by writing that American intellectuals have prevented New York from assimilating the true spirit of modern art; that they have "covered" that spirit--the metaphor is that of contraception--with false "ideal[s]" borrowed from Europe. American culture is at its core modern ("all American activities are entirely in accord with the spirit of modern art . . . America has the same complex mentality as the true modern artist [:] the same continual need of expressing itself in the present and for the present"), but most Americans are not aware of this fact, and as a consequence little truly significant modern American art has been created. Most American intellectuals and critics, says de Zayas, are incapable of leading America to the knowledge of its essential modernity because they are non-creative popularizers who merely copy and reiterate the past theories and positions of European movements without producing anything vital. They lack a sense of, or a commitment to, contemporaneity. Their tendency to follow rather than innovate means that, in the current (post-Armory Show) commercial climate, they are really only concerned with lining their own pockets: "The critics do not work to develop their knowledge, or to spread knowledge. . . . The press has established a false notion of American life. It has succeeded in creating in the American people a fictitious need for a false art and a false literature. The press has in view but one thing:--profit." In this environment, the goal of the Modern Gallery is to appeal directly to the American public's inherent taste for contemporaneity, thus circumventing the critics' attempts to purvey stale art and ideas.
The 291 group was intensely interested in assessing the consequences, both artistic and commercial, of the new popularity of modern art in post-1913 New York. The brief article entitled "Economic Laws and Art" from the satire/notes page of the second issue of 291 (April 1915) attests to this interest and demonstrates an openness to the possibility that popularity and up-to-the-minute modernity could go hand in hand, a possibility Stieglitz would never entertain. Here they note the increasing economic success of modern art galleries in New York in 1915, and ask whether this popularity is ultimately good or bad for art. Their stance is not automatically anti-commercial; rather, they look at commercialism as a tool that is in and of itself value-neutral:
The mere fact that [the Montross show of American Moderns] can take place on Fifth Avenue where rents must be paid, is an important indication of the change of the public attitude and the added fact that the gallery was usually crowded at five cents per head, shows that the interest is not spotty but widespread. In short, it is safe to announce that cubism or futurism, or whatever else these men call their work, is not only beginning to pay its way, but is undergoing the trying ordeal of being the fashion. The obvious question is: 'Who took the lead, the artists or the public?' In other words, is American cubism, or futurism, so sincere an expression that the speedy conversion of the public to its serious consideration was inevitable, or did the public interest, aroused by 291 and the big Armory Exhibition of French moderns, create a demand which our men are trying consciously or unconsciously to supply? Judging from results in the Montross exhibition, both kinds of influence are present, thus leaving to the buying public an interesting opportunity of furthering modern thought by weeding out the true from the false . . .
The question that animated and worried Stieglitz--namely, are artists being true to their own creativity, or merely trying to fill a speculated need in a burgeoning market?--remains a question that intrigues Stieglitz's associates. Their methods for finding an answer, however, differ from his in important ways: Stieglitz saw himself as sole arbiter of the question, while the 291 writers emphasize the essential role of the public in any answer, guardedly putting faith in the public's ability, in the words of the article, to "further modern thought by weeding out the true from the false." The 291 editors found evidence in the urban life around them that the American "buying public" was animated, at least in part, by the same spirit of modernity driving modern art--with the sole caveat being that the public, not fully aware of its true modernity, may need to learn to discern between the true and the merely fashionable before it can see itself in the art it faces. 29 De Zayas makes explicit his belief that Stieglitz and his work at 291 failed to render the New York public adequately aware of its true up-to-the-minute modernist identity: "The real American life is still unexpressed," writes de Zayas.
America remains to be discovered. Stieglitz wanted to work this miracle. He wanted to discover America. Also, he wanted the Americans to discover themselves. But, in pursuing his object, he employed the shield ["capote" in the French version of the article, slang for condom] of psychology and metaphysics. He has failed.
For de Zayas, the problem with Stieglitz is that he treated the spirit of modern art (the essence of American culture) like a mystical entity removed from immediate life rather than an expression of contemporary culture. 30 Stieglitz surrounded and immobilized this spirit with what de Zayas calls "prejudices," his word for the aura which, by perpetuating a certain elitism associated with style, has prevented Americans from keeping up with their own modernity as it is reflected back to them in truly evolving modern art. Americans falsely took these static prejudices for modernity; consequently, when, thanks to the efforts of the lawyer and collector John Quinn, the tariff on art imports fell after the Armory Show and the art market expanded, a false notion of art became popularized and institutionalized by both profit-seeking critics and laggard artists (whom de Zayas labels "copyists"). This taste for false art acted as a brake on the evolution of modern art, diverting attention from objective contemporary instances of modern life into dead styles or "methods" of the recent past:
Art is a white lie that is only living when it is born of truth. And there is no other truth than objective truth. The others are but prejudices. Stieglitz tried to discover America with prejudices. He first, and he alone, has placed before New York the various foundation supports of the evolution of modern art. He wished to work through suggestion. But soon, commercialism brought an avalanche of paintings. Those lepers, those scullery maids of art, those Sudras of progress--the copyists, got busy. They even believed themselves to be part of the evolution because, instead of copying trees, they copied a method. America remains to be discovered. And to do it there is but one way:--DISCOVER IT!
De Zayas believes that the institutional framework for modern art that Stieglitz devised was weak because it relied upon subjective expression--"suggestion"--rather than a direct, objective presentation of modernity as it is, in motion. For de Zayas, photography is the art-form par excellence for the revelation of the outer world's objective nature. In de Zayas' eyes, then, Stieglitz began his work as a modernist appropriately: as a proponent of straight (or what de Zayas calls "static") photography, Stieglitz stood for modernist objectivity. In claiming artistic superiority for straight photography over photography involving the manipulation of negatives, Stieglitz demonstrated a truly modern consciousness of the machine's objectifying power over and against aestheticizing "prejudice" or nostalgia: continuing the sexual metaphor, de Zayas writes, "[Stieglitz] worked in the American spirit. He married Man to Machinery and obtained issue."
Stieglitz failed, however, when he attempted to modernize American plastic expression. His failure lay in the way he presented modern art to the public. He asked the American public to look at modern work as Art, a rarefied distillation of genius emanating from and appealing to a certain initiated segment of society, rather than the sign of the public's own unacknowledged, constantly evolving vital energy:
When he wanted to ["obtain issue"] with art, he imported works capable of serving as examples of modern thought plastically expressed. His intention was to have them used as supports for finding an expression of the conception of American life. He found against him open opposition and servile imitation. He did not succeed in bringing out the individualistic expression of the spirit of the community. He has put the American art public to the test. He has fought to change good taste into common sense. But he has not succeeded in putting in motion the enormous mass of the inertia of this public's self-sufficiency. America has not the slightest conception of the value of the work accomplished by Stieglitz.  Any effort, any tendency, which does not possess the radiation of advertising remains practically ignored. America waits, inertly, for its own potentiality to be expressed in art.
Many critics, particularly those who want to see de Zayas and 291 as proto-dada and, thus, critical of capitalism in a way that fits with Bürger's or Huyssen's characterizations of the avant-garde, take this passage as an indictment of "the radiation of advertising" and American commercialism in general. 31 Yet, when read in context, we can see that this phrase expresses de Zayas' sincere belief that commercialism has been and could continue to be an important defining trait of the essentially modernist American identity. Americans as a people of mixed origins and beliefs will never express themselves in art unconsciously, says de Zayas, because they are not a unified people with a culturally inbred second nature--a cultural "common sense" naturally imbued with "good taste"--that flows from a national tradition. The heterogeneity of American culture, says de Zayas, shows through "in politics, in industry, in science, in commerce, in finance, in the popular theatre, in architecture, in sport, in dress," realms of life in which Americans have been unafraid to "get rid of European prejudices and [create their] own laws in accordance with [their] own customs." But things have been different in the realm of art, says de Zayas. In art, Americans feel the need for an "exotic education"; in learning to copy European methods they develop "an inner censorship" which blocks a direct perception of the heterogeneous truth of the American "milieu." Result: "They do not see their surroundings at first hand." De Zayas describes those surroundings in striking terms:
One lives here [in the United States] in a continuous change which makes impossible the perpetuation and the universality of an idea. History in the United States is impossible and meaningless. One lives here in the present. In a continuous struggle to adapt oneself to the milieu. . . . In the United States there is no general sentiment in any sphere of thought.
According to de Zayas, Picabia recognizes that Americans are really modernists, that "America has the same complex mentality as the true modern artist." 32 In keeping with this realization, Picabia has created art in America that does not imitate existing false notions of artistic propriety. He has achieved this, says de Zayas, by seizing upon everyday objects (machines, schematic renderings of mechanisms, images in advertisements and catalogues) and undercutting the viewer's attempts to remove them to a higher realm separate from the milieu in which they were found--that is, he refuses them the status of "art," in de Zayas' sense of that word. Implied in the sustained use of sexual and reproductive metaphor is de Zayas's conviction that Picabia accomplishes this undercutting through the blasphemous juxtaposition of a found machine image with a found bit of relatively exalted text (for example, the sacred phrase "Le saint des saints" in the self-caricature, or the epic lyricism of "Je suis venu sur les rivages du Pont-Euxin" in the de Zayas portrait), a transgressive act which works together with the eroticizing of these objects to suggest that American modernity is grounded in a new, non-transcendable sexuality objectified by machines. De Zayas refers to this kind of eroticized, blasphemous rejection of the tradition of idealistic art at the end of his article when he holds up Picabia as the hope for a truly vital (and virile) American modern art. He writes, "Of all those who have come to conquer America, Picabia is the only one who has done as did Cortez. He has burned his ship behind him. He does not protect himself with any shield ["capote"]. He has married America like a man who is not afraid of consequences. He has obtained results."
Stieglitz's decision to reprint in Camera Work, one after the other, the withheld circular stating the goals of the Modern Gallery, this essay from 291, and an "Epitaph for Alfred Stieglitz" by Marsden Hartley attests to his understanding that the Modern Gallery and Picabia's mechanomorphic style were complementary parts in a plan to replace him with a new institution. The talk of his failure and the use of the past tense to describe his achievements must have been particularly hard to take in 1915, especially in an organ like 291, which he was supporting with his own money, space, labor, and reputation. De Zayas, despite the emasculating rhetoric in his article, sought not so much to replace Stieglitz as to bring him and his achievements at 291 (especially his pathbreaking insights into the relationship between photography and modern art) to greater effect by showing Stieglitz the ways in which modern art and everyday American culture were intimately linked in their common contemporaneity.
What ultimately became of de Zayas' project? Ironically, the Modern Gallery was a great success with the public, but a financial failure. De Zayas was not a very good salesman, and this fact, coupled with his habit of not keeping records, eventually made his European suppliers wary of lending him their works on consignment (MDZ, 50). 33 The Arensbergs bought the majority of their collection there and at the De Zayas Gallery, which succeeded The Modern Gallery from 1919-1921 and which they backed financially (AS, 196).
The tie to the Arensbergs suggests that de Zayas' interest in the mechanomorphic aesthetic continued, since the Arensbergs' apartment was the gathering place until 1920 for artists inspired by machines and found objects, including Man Ray and Duchamp, as well as Picabia. Evidence also suggests that de Zayas's view of the compatibility between commerce and the mechanomorphic aesthetic lived on in the Arensberg circle. When in 1921 Man Ray describes to Tristan Tzara the end of New York dada, he is not at all unfriendly to the commercial and promotional philosophy of the earlier Modern Gallery:
Cher Tzara, dada cannot live in New York. All New York is dada, and will not tolerate a rival,--will not notice dada. It is true that no efforts to make it public have been made, beyond the placing of your and our dadas in the bookshops, but there is no one here to work for it, and no money to be taken in for it, or donated to it. So dada in New York must remain a secret. . . . The appearance of New York dada was made possible through the generosity of a few poor friends, but it cannot go on so. Perhaps in the future we may do something again. 34
The belief that avant-garde art expresses the unconscious essence of modern New York remains ("all New York is dada"), but the energy and finances needed to make people aware of this fact are lacking.
Despite the fact that it was not as successful in practice as it promised to be, the genesis of The Modern Gallery out of 291 and the differences it brought to light between Stieglitz and the Haviland-Meyer-de Zayas-Picabia group signify a larger shift in the aesthetic as well as the institutional framework of modern art in New York in the years following the Armory Show. For instance, Robert J. Coady's gallery and his magazine The Soil (1916-1917) portrayed popular American culture, especially sports, comedy, and heavy machinery such as steam hammers and locomotive engines, as proper ground for modern art in America, while Marcel Duchamp's ready-mades challenged the aesthetic and institutional bounds of art along lines similar to those of Picabia; Duchamp in turn influenced the artists who came into contact with him at the Arensbergs' apartment. And in both cases, we find proponents of modern art positioning themselves, like de Zayas, in a guardedly optimistic manner with regard to the commodification of the art object. This tempered acceptance of commodification as a fact of modernity, which, as we have seen, grew out of a benign view of American commodity culture as the organic expression of technologized modernity, needs to be taken into account in characterizations of the historical avant-garde's engagement with society.
The desire to be contemporary held by avant-gardists such as Picabia and de Zayas has significance for our understanding of the historical avant-garde. Recognizing its importance is crucial to assessing the enthusiasm for America manifested by res such as Marcel Duchamp, Picabia, and others whom scholars such as Huyssen and Bürger include as members of the historical avant-garde. For them, America seemed to epitomize modernity: it was truly the new world. 35 Exploitation of this essential modernity, rather than opposition to high bourgeois culture and its art institutions, struck them as being of utmost importance. Artists like Picabia, Duchamp and de Zayas, or, for that matter, Man Ray, Joseph Stella, Charles Demuth, or Charles Sheeler, did not believe that American society required fundamental transformation before it could embrace modern art. Instead, art needed to evolve in the direction of contemporary consumer society if it was itself to be truly expressive of modernity. In their opinion, Americans were at worst merely unconscious of their society's inherent avant-garde tendencies and therefore in need of little more than a dose of self-consciousness. Accordingly, the post-Armory Show New York avant-garde optimistically placed the modern fact of art commodification at the center of its artistic production; it was a process that promised both European and American artists an opportunity to establish continuity between modernist art and modern life.
Because theorists have not acknowledged the importance of this notion, they tend to misread the meaning of a key theme in art of the period--machine imagery and technology. Huyssen, for instance, perceptively notes the "crucial" role of technology and the "technological imagination" in historical avant-garde art. But he interprets the importance of that role solely in terms of its oppositional value: technology was used by the historical avant-garde in a revolutionary manner to transform life through art. The opposite, however, seems true in the example at hand: the New York avant-garde's identification of technology with the essence of mainstream American society and culture resulted in the conviction that art could be transformed and rendered truly modern by life--at least here. The Anglo-Saxon world was the origin of technological innovation and the seat of a society thoroughly modernized by technology. 36 Major res of the historical avant-garde--several of whom would later be involved with continental dada--created work in New York not with the intent of abolishing the institutional category of 'art' by using avant-garde creations to transform an anti-modernist society; rather, they attempted to dissolve the barrier between art and life by creating art objects that would be the contemporary, organic expression of a pre-existing modernist society and culture.
Over-emphasis on the oppositional character of the avant-garde has created an artificial chasm separating avant-garde res from their contemporaries. Terms such as "high modernism," then, can become a dumping ground for any writer or artist who is not easily accounted for strictly in terms of opposition. Examples of avant-gardism in America in the early twentieth century, such as those of Stieglitz and the artists surrounding him, demonstrate how the idea of America as the epitome of a culture thoroughly imbued with technological modernity could lead artists to accept the fact of art's commodification and create out of that acceptance, doing so in the belief that it would allow them fuller participation in the contemporaneous whole of modernity. These avant-gardists necessarily regarded the establishment of a just commercial relationship between artist and public--what de Zayas termed "mutual service"--as social ratification of that fuller participation, because they recognized that monetary worth makes up such an important part of the way modern society expresses its values. Insofar as concerns of this sort continue to be essential in our contemporary debates about art, such clear-headedness about modern values may be worthy of admiration. It can remind us that desires other than oppositionality often motivated the activities of the historical avant-garde and testify to the ongoing importance, for art and for artists, of a sense of contemporaneity.
Stephen E. Lewis is a doctoral candidate in English at the University of Chicago. He is completing a dissertation on the corrida de toros in Anglo-American and French literature of the 1920s and 1930s.
1. Peter Bürger, Theory of the Avant-Garde, trans. Michael Shaw (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984); Andreas Huyssen, After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmodernism (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1986); hereafter abbreviated TAG and AGD.
2. Sue Davidson Lowe, Stieglitz: A Memoir/Biography (New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1983), 127; hereafter abbreviated SMB.
3. William Innes Homer, Alfred Stieglitz and the American Avant-Garde (Boston: New York Graphic Society, 1977), 172-73; hereafter abbreviated AS.
4. Dorothy Norman, Alfred Stieglitz: An American Seer (New York: Random House, 1960, 1973), 118-19; hereafter abbreviated ASAS.
5. The press often reported Stieglitz's anti-commercialism with humor. See the quotations from a 1913 article by Samuel Swift of the New York Sun and a 1911 article by Henry Tyrell in the New York World in Marius de Zayas, How, When, and Why Modern Art Came to New York, ed. Francis Naumann (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1996), 81-82; hereafter abbreviated HWW.
6. This shift may sound like the one from autonomous art to non-autonomous art familiar to readers of Bürger. The difference here is that, in this example, both institutions are undeniably avant-garde, and the avant-garde institution devoted to the idea of autonomous art (bourgeois and capitalist in Bürger's reading) was anti-commercial, while the one replacing it was openly commercial.
7. In the world of literary modernism, The Sunwise Turn, a New York modernist bookstore in operation from 1916-1927, represented within one institution the tension between these two attitudes towards the fact of a consumer economy for modernist work (see Lawrence Rainey, "Consuming Investments: Joyce's Ulysses," James Joyce Quarterly 33 [Summer 1996]: 551-55). The store had two owners: Harold Loeb, like de Zayas, considered the "profit system" a fact of life and committed himself to operating without a loss, while his Stieglitz-like partner, Mary Mowbray Clarke, expressed a preference for cultural patronage from the wealthy over the "evil" of "profit." The strain ultimately proved too great: Rainey tells us Loeb sold his share of the shop in early 1921 (Rainey, 554). Significantly, Clarke and her first partner originally planned to locate their store in the 291 building.
8. Camera Work, no. 48 (Oct. 1916): 63-64
9. Stieglitz was consistent in his idealism from the very beginning, when he was concerned only with photography: see Homer, Alfred Stieglitz and the Photo-Secession (Boston: New York Graphic Society, 1983) 96, 141-42; hereafter abbreviated ASP.
10. Edward Abrahams, The Lyrical Left: Randolph Bourne, Alfred Stieglitz and the Origins of Cultural Radicalism in America (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1986), 173, 180; hereafter abbreviated LL.
11. Douglas Hyland, Marius De Zayas: Conjurer of Souls (Lawrence, Kansas: Spencer Museum of Art, The University of Kansas, 1981), 46, quoting a letter of de Zayas to Stieglitz; hereafter abbreviated MDZ. Also, see de Zayas' letter of 27 August 1915 to Stieglitz in HWW, 190-91.
12. Camera Work, no. 48 (October 1916): 63-64.
13. Stieglitz's most treasured American painters, John Marin and Arthur Dove, were in serious financial trouble at the time and consequently painting very little; also, Stieglitz's wife's stream of income from her brothers' breweries was in danger of being shut off if the U.S. entered the war and began rationing (SMB, 200).
14. Ibid.; ASAS, 129. Both (ASAS quotes Stieglitz) contradict Stieglitz's statement in Camera Work that it was de Zayas who ended the relationship.
15. In Camera Work, no. 30 (April 1910), 54, Stieglitz wrote: "The Photo-Secession stood first for a secession from the then accepted standards of photography. . . . [T]he Photo-Secession can be said now to stand for those artists who secede from the photographic attitude toward representation of form" (my ellipsis).
16. See John Russel Taylor and Brian Brooke, The Art Dealers (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1969), 31-32 on Impressionism, independent movements, and the rise of the independent dealer and art critic.
17. Collectors who bought works of 291 artists or gave them money included John Quinn, Agnes and Eugene Meyer, Walter Arensberg, Mabel Dodge, and Stieglitz himself. On John Quinn as '291' patron, see Judith K. Zilczer, "Alfred Stieglitz and John Quinn: Allies in the American Avant-Garde," The American Art Journal, 17 (Summer 1985): 20-21; on the Meyers, see AS, 57; on Arensberg, see AS, 184-185; on Mabel Dodge, see AS, 178.
18. See Dorothy Norman, "From the Writings and Conversations of Alfred Stieglitz," Twice A Year 1 (Fall-Winter 1938), 85-86, 90, 93. For Stieglitz's views on craftsmanship and artistic creation, see his article "Pictorial Photography," Scribner's Magazine 26 (November 1899): 528-37
19. Attesting to this sense of American commodity culture as modernist standard are the frequent public comments by European avant-garde artists present in New York from 1913-1923 to the effect that "America is the country of the art of the future" (Duchamp, quoted in Naumann, New York Dada 1915-1923, 19, 36; hereafter abbreviated NYD).
20. William Camfield, Francis Picabia, His Art, Life and Times (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), 84; hereafter abbreviated FP. Dickran Tashjian, Skyscraper Primitives (Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 1975), 38; hereafter abbreviated SP. See also AS, 190-91.
21. NYD, 59-60, reports that Picabia contributed his first mechanomorphic drawing, the "Fille née sans mère" [Girl Born without a Mother], to the June 1915 issue of 291, only days after arriving in New York.
22. Hyland, MDZ, 110, considers the work a "character study" of 291's Agnes Ernst Meyer; Camfield, FP, 83, concurs. The Stieglitz-de Zayas correspondance, published as an appendix to HWW, shows the importance of her role in these affairs.
23. Maria Lluïsa Borràs, Picabia (New York: Rizzoli International Publications, 1985), 155.
24. Borràs, Picabia, 156; Camfield, FP, 83. See the illustrated plates in Camfield for the specific ads and catalogue images Picabia probably used as models.
25. Anon., "French Artists Spur on an American Art," The New York Tribune, 24 Oct. 1915, section 4, p. 2, quoted in FP, 77.
26. Naumann, NYD, 20, interprets the 1913 painting "Culture physique" ["Physical Culture"], painted after Picabia's first trip to New York, from Jan to April 1913, to show that Picabia probably thought of art in terms of commodification well before his mechanomorphic phase.
27. Many of Picabia's mechanomorphic drawings of the period 1915-1919 are inspired by this notion of technology as ring a quintessentially modern form of artistic reproduction that functions parodically in a manner contrary to the laws of human reproduction: see "La fille née sans mère" ["The Girl Born without a Mother"], "L'Enfant carburateur" ["Child Carburetor"], "Prostitution universelle" ["Universal Prostitution"] in NYD, 62-65, 69-72. Though not eroticized with the same obsessive energy, the mechanomorphic work of Duchamp and Jean Crotti, working with Picabia in New York at the same time, and of Americans such as Charles Demuth, Morton Schamberg and Man Ray, all frequenters of the Arensberg circle, exhibit similar erotic conceptions of the machine as creative in a way that parodies normal human sexuality and fertility: see Duchamp's "Fountain," cocoa grinders, and "Large Glass," Crotti's 1916 "The Mechanical Forms of Love in Movement," Man Ray's 1919 "My First Born," and Schamberg's 1916 "Machine" (FP, plates 146, 148, 149). Camfield evokes the literary erotic machines of Raymond Roussel and Alfred Jarry (particularly as represented in Impressions d'Afrique, 1912, and Le Surmâle, 1911, respectively) as likely influences on Picabia (FP, 78-79).
28. 291, nos.7-8 (Sept.-Oct. 1915).
29. A short note in the New York American, 1 November 1915, considers the significance of modern art's popularity in connection with The Modern Gallery itself, stating, "The question of how far the ideas of a comparatively small number of artists are biting into the consciousness of the community will be solved by the world's test of having arrived--the saleable value of the product. This will be something, though it will not settle the real value of the ideas" (quoted in HWW, 95).
30. Looking back on 1915, "the golden year for modern art," de Zayas says that he strived to make the Modern Gallery a place where people could "think for themselves." "I wanted to bring the artist in contact with the public, the producer with the consumer without intermediaries" (HWW, 71, 94). He contrasts this philosophy with that of Stieglitz, who "dealt with the public individually, putting the visitor to a sort of third degree to get at their [sic] mental reactions" (HWW, 126).
31. Tashjian (SP, 40) and Arturo Schwarz (New York Dada: Duchamp, Man Ray, Picabia [Munich: Prestel-Verlag and Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus, 1973], 193) quote this phrase without noting that it was written within the context of de Zayas' creation of the Modern Gallery and his primary criticism of Stieglitz, namely, that Stieglitz stifled healthy commercial opportunity. Both dismiss de Zayas as "merely an art dealer" once he and Stieglitz have gone their separate ways.
32. Picabia himself says as much in his interview with the New York Tribune: he attributes his new mechanomorphic style to his realization upon coming to America and seeing New York that "the genius of the modern world is in machinery"; Picabia, like Duchamp, believed America was "destined to become the center of modern art" (FP, 76).
33. The Modern Gallery was the first uptown gallery devoted to modern art, and lasted three years. According to de Zayas, Eugene Meyer was the principal investor, with Haviland and Picabia also contributing. Meyer insisted on a no returns policy, so buyers were limited to the experienced collectors Arthur B. Davies, John Quinn, and Walter Arensberg (HWW, 94). Picabia and his wife Gabrielle Buffet-Picabia supplied much of the art, both from their own collection and from Paris contacts (FP, 76). See HWW, 134-55, for a complete list of The Modern and De Zayas Galleries' exhibits.
34. Quoted in Raimund Meyer, Judith Hossli, Guido Magnaguagno, Juri Steiner and Hans Bolliger, Dada global (Zurich: Limmat Verlag, 1994), 92.
35. This view of America was especially widespread in the period preceding surrealism (prior to 1924). Other European avant-garde res who viewed America, particularly New York, as essentially avant-garde or modernist include Blaise Cendrars (see, e.g., his 1912 poem "Pâques à New York"), Arthur Cravan, John Heartfield, and Hannah Höch.
36. Anglo-America's superior economic and technological development in comparison to that of the Continent was a point of pride among Anglo-American avant-gardists, and a rallying point around which they sometimes centered their efforts to promote their work. See Wyndham Lewis, in the opening manifesto of BLAST 1 (1914 [reprint Santa Rosa: Black Sparrow Press, 1989], 39), and Ezra Pound in the essay "Patria Mia" (1913, reprinted in Ezra Pound, Selected Prose 1909-1965, ed. William Cookson [New York: New Directions, 1973], 99-141). Both argue that England and America are ideally suited to be the world leaders in modern art because everyday life in those countries is already thoroughly structured by modern realities, particularly the manufacture of machinery (for Lewis) and entrepreneurialism and the industry-driven construction of steel-beamed buildings (for Pound).
.


Setting Up a Kubernetes Cluster on Ubuntu 18.04
In this tutorial, we’ll spin up a Kubernetes cluster on Ubuntu 18.04.
This guide uses Ubuntu 18.04 droplets on DigitalOcean. Feel free to swap out DigitalOcean for a different cloud hosting provider or your own on-premise environment.
Dependencies:
- Docker v18.06.0-ce
- Kubernetes v1.11.2
Contents
Provision the Machines
Following along with the DigitalOcean example?
- Sign up for an account (if you don’t already have one).
- Generate an access token so you can access the DigitalOcean API.
- Spin up three new droplets (one master and two workers) that have 4 GB of memory and 2 vCPUs either from the DigitalOcean console or doctl, the DigitalOcean.
doctl
example:
# authenticate
$ doctl auth init
# spin up the droplets
$ for i in 1 2 3; do
doctl compute droplet create \
node-$i \
--region nyc1 \
--image ubuntu-18-04-x64 \
--size 4gb
done
Wait a few seconds for the droplets to spin up, and then run:
$ doctl compute droplet list
You should see something like:
ID Name Public IPv4 Memory VCPUs Disk Region Image Status
106096338 node-1 <IP_ADDRESS> 4096 2 60 nyc1 Ubuntu 18.04 x64 active
106096340 node-2 <IP_ADDRESS> 4096 2 60 nyc1 Ubuntu 18.04 x64 active
106096345 node-3 <IP_ADDRESS> 4096 2 60 nyc1 Ubuntu 18.04 x64 active
Take note of the public IP addresses.
Refer to the How To Use Doctl guide for more info on using the
doctl
CLI tool.
Configure the Master Node
SSH into the machine that will serve as the Kubernetes master, and then run the following commands…
Install Dependencies
Install Docker along with-
- kubeadm - bootstraps a Kubernetes cluster
- kubelet - configures containers to run on a host
- kubectl - deploys and manages apps on Kubernetes
$ apt-get update && apt-get install -y apt-transport-https
$ curl -s https://download.docker.com/linux/ubuntu/gpg | sudo apt-key add -
$ add-apt-repository \
"deb [arch=amd64] https://download.docker.com/linux/ubuntu bionic stable"
$ apt update && apt install -qy docker-ce
$ curl -s https://packages.cloud.google.com/apt/doc/apt-key.gpg | apt-key add -
$ echo "deb http://apt.kubernetes.io/ kubernetes-xenial main" \
> /etc/apt/sources.list.d/kubernetes.list
$ apt-get update && apt-get install -y kubeadm kubelet kubectl
As of writing, Kubernetes for Ubuntu 18.04 (Bionic) is not yet available, but Ubuntu 16.04 (Xenial) works just fine. Also, Kubernetes 1.11 does not officially support Docker 18.06. It should work fine, but it could bring up some unexpected issues.
Configure Kubernetes
Init Kubernetes:
$ kubeadm init --apiserver-advertise-address=<MASTER_IP> --pod-network-cidr=<IP_ADDRESS>/16
Be sure to replace
<MASTER_IP>
with the machine’s IP address.
Take note of the join token command. For example:
kubeadm join <IP_ADDRESS>:6443 \
--token 58f5m6.rms4ycepgmtvjl9z --discovery-token-ca-cert-hash sha256:<hash>
Then, create a new user:
$ adduser michael
$ usermod -aG sudo michael
$ su - michael
Set up the Kubernetes config as the user you created:
$ mkdir -p $HOME/.kube
$ sudo cp -i /etc/kubernetes/admin.conf $HOME/.kube/config
$ sudo chown $(id -u):$(id -g) $HOME/.kube/config
Again, as the new user, deploy a flannel network to the cluster:
$ kubectl apply -f https://raw.githubusercontent.com/coreos/flannel/master/Documentation/kube-flannel.yml
Configure the Worker Nodes
The following commands should be run on each of the worker machines.
Install Dependencies
Again, install Docker, kubeadm, kubelet, and kubectl:
$ apt-get update && apt-get install -y apt-transport-https
$ curl -s https://download.docker.com/linux/ubuntu/gpg | sudo apt-key add -
$ add-apt-repository \
"deb [arch=amd64] https://download.docker.com/linux/ubuntu bionic stable"
$ apt update && apt install -qy docker-ce
$ curl -s https://packages.cloud.google.com/apt/doc/apt-key.gpg | apt-key add -
$ echo "deb http://apt.kubernetes.io/ kubernetes-xenial main" \
> /etc/apt/sources.list.d/kubernetes.list
$ apt-get update && apt-get install -y kubeadm kubelet kubectl
Configure Kubernetes
Using the join command from above, join the worker to the cluster.

Want to automate this process? Check out Creating a Kubernetes Cluster on DigitalOcean with Python and Fabric.


|
| static std::vector< double > | getSequence (double fn2, double fn1, int terms) |
| |
| static std::string | getDisplay (std::vector< double > sequence) |
| |
| static void | displaySequence (std::string sequence) |
| |
| static void | getNum (std::string message, double &num) |
| |
| void PseudoFibonacci::displaySequence |
( |
std::string |
sequence | ) |
|
|
static |
Displays the sequence in console
- Parameters
-
| sequence | a string of the terms in the sequence |
| std::string PseudoFibonacci::getDisplay |
( |
std::vector< double > |
sequence | ) |
|
|
static |
Creates a string of the sequence to display.
- Parameters
-
| sequence | the sequence of numbers to display |
- Returns
- the string that is to be displayed
| void PseudoFibonacci::getNum |
( |
std::string |
message, |
|
|
double & |
num |
|
) |
| |
|
static |
Sanitize user input for a number (which may be a decimal or an integer)
- Parameters
-
| message | the messaget for the user, asking for input |
| &num | the number specified by the user (i.e. the input) |
| std::vector< double > PseudoFibonacci::getSequence |
( |
double |
fn2, |
|
|
double |
fn1, |
|
|
int |
terms |
|
) |
| |
|
static |
Calculates the following terms of a recursive sequence given the first two terms. Terms are calculated using the formula: Fn = Fn-1 + Fn-2
- Parameters
-
| fn2 | the first term of the sequence |
| fn1 | the second term of the sequence |
| terms | the number of terms to calculate |
- Returns
- a vector container with the requested sequence
The documentation for this class was generated from the following files:


WITNESS LIST Natural Resources Committee April 3, 2001 - 2:00P SB 5 FOR: Johansen, Lyle E.V.P. (TX Assn of Builders), Austin, TX Registering, but not testifying: On: Bergeron, Stephanie Executive Assistant (TNRCC), Austin, TX Eden, Dan Executive Assistant (TNRCC), Austin, TX SB 828 FOR: Anderson, Raymond Asst. Manager (Harris County Public Infrastructure), Houston, TX Heibert, Franz Chairman (Texas Onsite Wastewater Treatment Research Council), Austin, TX ON: Anderson, Sparky Texas Program Diresctor (Clean Water Action), Austin, TX Registering, but not testifying: For: Hanna, Mark Attorney (Texas Onsite Wastewater Assn.), Austin, TX SB 1335 FOR: Lloyd, Robert Attorney (North Texas Municipal Water District), Austin, TX ON: Ahrens, Carolyn (Tarrant Regional Water District Colorado River Municipal Water District), Austin, TX Allen, Joe (LNVA), Houston, TX Reneau, Kenneth General Manager (Angelina & Neches River Authority), Lufkin, TX Salinas, Gregory (McCall, Parkhurst & Horton L.L.P. Bend Counsel for Lower Colorado River Authority), Austin, TX Stover, John (Angelina and Neches River Authority), Lufkin, TX Registering, but not testifying: For: Robinson, Steve Attorney (Lower Neches Valley Authority), Houston, TX Against: Anderson, Sparky Texas Program Director (Clean Water Action), Austin, TX On: Brittin, Carolyn Water Program Coordinator (TNRCC), Austin, TX Schwartz, Suzanne General Counsel (Texas Water Development Board), Austin, TX SB 1444 Registering, but not testifying: On: Halcomb, Doug (TNRCC) SB 1454 FOR: Prewitt, Ray Executive Vice President (Texas Citrus Mutual), Mission, TX Walzel, Jerry Executive VP (Texas Producers Assoc.), Mission, TX SB 1627 FOR: Bowers, Richard General Manager (North Plains Groundwater Conservation District), Dumas, TX Leedom, John (Self) Registering, but not testifying: For: Glacken, Pamela Environmental Programs Manager (TXU), Dallas, TX Ruggiero, Denise Counsel (State Farm Insurance), Austin, TX On: Bomar, George (TNRCC), Austin, TX Chenowith, Todd Section Manager Water Rights Permitting (TNRCC), Austin, TX Funderburgh, Carol Coordinator (TX Dept. of Agriculture), Austin, TX Hubert, Martin Deputy Commissioner (TX Dept. of Agriculture), Austin, TX Sanders, Mike Vice Chancellor- Gvt. Relations (Texas Tech University System), Lubbock, TX SB 1680 Registering, but not testifying: For: Forbes, Scott Government Relations Manager (Port of Houston Authority), Houston, TX Schwartz, A.R. Babe Lobbyist (Galveston Bay Conservation & PReservation Assc.), Austin, TX SB 1747 FOR: Chapman, D. Keith Executive Director (Livestock Marketing Association of Texas), Georgetown, TX Richards, Burt President (Buffalo Livestock Comm Co), Buffalo, TX Ward, Donald Govt. Affairs Consultant (Livestock Marketing Association of Texas), Austin, TX SCR 34 Registering, but not testifying: For: Compton, Gary Counsel (Pioneer Natural Resources), Austin, TX Myres, Albert Vice President (Shell Oil Company), Houston, TX