Tristan Tzara Research Articles

The status of the Romanian literary avant-garde after 2000: from marginalization to recovery

The present paper proposes a theoretical approach related to the critical reception of the Romanian literary avant-garde after 2000, a literary phenomenon in‑between marginalization and recovery tendencies. Starting from interwar critical studies from Romania (E. Lovinescu, G. Călinescu, etc.), with predominantly negative perspectives regarding the critical reception of the avant-garde, we will observe how certain clichés of the reception of the phenomenon, seen as “extremist”, as marginal, were perpetuated, with the “barrier” of the apparently impossible literary canonization. After 2000, however, literary studies discuss the historicization of the avant-garde phenomenon, which therefore became canonical in Romanian literary history. However, several elements of the “niche” avant-garde remained in the subsidiary, in the “shadow”. This is what we call the marginal(ized), the secondary avant-garde, which includes a series of less known and researched avant-garde writers, but who contributed to the complex shaping of the avant-garde imaginary. We will analyse several types of works published after 2000, in order to highlight the complexity of the avant-garde, under constant recovery: literary anthologies (Ion Pop, Nicolae Bârna), avant-garde dictionaries (Lucian Pricop, Dan Grigorescu), several critical studies after 2000 (Ion Bogdan Lefter, Ovidiu Morar, Emilia Drogoreanu, Paul Cernat, Dan Gulea, Emanuel Modoc, Delia Ungureanu, Daniel Clinci, Petre Răileanu, Gabriela Glăvan, Ion Pop, etc.). Many of them focus on the recovery trends of some forgotten writers, with the possibility of their inclusion in the central, canonical avant-garde, while other studies pursue new research methodologies, such as the avant-garde seen in a transnational context, in world literature context, etc. An issue that we develop in the context of this extended future research, which is also highlighted upon in the present work, is that of post-Urmuz epigonism within Romanian literary avant-garde, a fact that explains the placement of many writers in the sphere of critical marginalization. Thus, many texts by less researched writers are forgotten, being always associated with the central avant-garde models, especially Urmuz, but also Tristan Tzara or other influential writers within the central avant‑garde groups. It is precisely this problem that made us analyse the way in which the writers who are part of the marginal dimension of the avant-garde are recovered through contemporary literary studies from Romania.

Looking Back at the Present

Abstract This article examines Hedwig Fechheimer’s 1914 Die Plastik der Aegypter (Egyptian Sculpture) and Tristan Tzara and Étienne Sved’s 1954 collaborative book L’Égypte face à face (Egypt Face to Face) and how, bookending the classical European avant-garde period, both took recourse to ancient Egypt to explain their present moment. While Fechheimer approaches Egyptian artwork via a nascent Cubism, Tzara and Sved reflect on ancient Egypt through nostalgic, Dada-tinted lenses. The presents of Fechheimer, Tzara, and Sved were rife with anti-Semitism and conflict; while Fechheimer avoids politics entirely Tzara and Sved do have a poignantly political purpose. In both cases time is folded, challenging teleological conceptions of historicity.

Eisenstein's Paris Diary: An Introduction

Abstract This introductory text unfolds and interprets some key elements from Eisenstein's Paris Diary, contextualizing his encounters and providing further details for understanding the filmmaker's fragmentary and sometimes cryptic diary as an autotheoretical practice. Written from the perspective of one immersed in the artistic and intellectual Paris of 1929 and 1930—as evidenced by Eisenstein's encounters with Colette, Tristan Tzara, Gertrude Stein, André Malraux, Filippo T. Marinetti, Abel Gance, Jean Cocteau, Louis Aragon, Paul Éluard, Kiki de Montparnasse, Darius Milhaud, and others—the diary highlights the importance of his exchange with the avant-garde micro-cinematographer Jean Painlevé, as well as his theoretical and political kinship with the heterodox Surrealist group around the journal Documents. The introduction investigates the way in which Eisenstein's Paris Diary both documents daily events and serves as an ephemeral depository for the author's theoretical ideas on filmmaking and montage, seeing these in terms of such late works as Method, Montage, and Disney.

Dada Historiography; or, How to End One’s Work?

No other early twentieth-century avant-garde project and aesthetic movement occupied itself with its history and legacy to such a large extent as Dada. This urge to write their history is one of Dada’s complexities. It attests to their critical engagement with the discourses forming and informing the artistic work in the early twentieth century. Dada’s revolt against the art establishment and bourgeoise society is found not only in their compositions and “artworks” but also in how they conceived of the idea of their legacy and history and, thus, of the canonical formation as a venue for their nonsense. Working within the parameters of historiography, the histories discussed in this article by Tristan Tzara, Richard Huelsenbeck, Hugo Ball, Hans Arp, and Raoul Hausmann transgress the set boundaries between historical fact and artistic expression by performatively undermining the conventions of writing and making history.

Les manifestes dadaïstes et l’art de la répétition ou comment “dire” qu’on n’a rien à dire

This article examines one of the major roles played by repetition in the Dadaist manifestos. While the goal of a manifesto, by definition, is to convey a message, the Dadaist manifestos suggest, through the use of the repetition, that they have no intention of proposing or communicating anything. Radically self-referential, this type of repetition, as demonstrated in this article analyzing several texts by Hugo Ball, André Breton, Francis Picabia, Georges Ribemont-Dessaignes, Tristan Tzara, Louis Aragon…, reflects Dada’s nihilistic program.

TRISTAN TZARA’S SHIFT FROM SYMBOLISM TO FUTURISM, TO DADAISM, 1912-1916

My paper will present Tristan Tzara’s artistic development from his early Symbolist days via Futurism to his Dadaist days in Zurich. In particular, I shall discuss how Futurism lingered on in the first phase of Dadaism and in Tzara’s Dada poetics (1916-1918). I shall first analyse some traits of his Symbolist poetry, composed in the 1910s, until his departure from Romania. I shall argue that his orientation towards Futurism was possible thanks to his Symbolist beginnings, an aesthetic the young Tzara shared with many Futurists, including F.T. Marinetti. Following a reconsideration of the network of cultural relations forged by the Romanian writer between the young Dada group in Zurich and members of the Futurist movement in Rome, Naples and Mantua, or more precisely: between anti-Marinettian representatives of Futurism who edited the magazines Noi, Le pagine, Procellaria and Brigata, I shall demonstrate that Tzara continued to be open to Futurist influences, albeit from the Florentine and Ferrarese strands, which were more moderate and less dogmatic than the Milanese circle around Marinetti. Examining some Tzara works in Cabaret Voltaire and Dada, I shall demonstrate certain Futurist affinities in his Dadaist production, in particular with regard to the graphictypographic features of his poems and the performative tactics in his theatrical practice.

TRAUMA RĂZBOIULUI ȘI CRIZA REPREZENTĂRII UMANULUI ÎN AVANGARDA LITERARĂ ȘI ARTISTICĂ: URMUZ ȘI MAX ERNST

The present work proposes an applied analysis, by bringing together the Romanian literary avant-garde with the European artistic one, a reunion represented by the text Emil Gayk, a text written by the precursor of the Romanian avant-garde, Urmuz, and the painting Barbarii (The Barbarians) by the German surrealist painter Max Ernst. Both works are specifically related to the First World War, a traumatic experience that leads to specific poetics of avant-garde and modernity, that of the crisis of human representation. Thus, we will pursue a comparative, but also interdisciplinary approach, the selected literary text being subjected to a hermeneutic approach, through a close reading in close connection with the real context of the beginning of the 20th century, while Max Ernst's work will be subjected to an aesthetic analysis, its component elements also reflecting the tragedy and tension of the First World War. The two works reflect, through specific techniques, predominantly surrealist (or, in any case, from the general sphere of the avant-garde), the way in which the modern and avant-garde artist feels this tension caused by the war, so that by the experience of the conflagration, lived directly or indirectly by to the two representatives of the avant-garde, an alienated and reified world is reconstructed, a world of the body crisis, of the sick mind. The irrationality and absurdity of war will be reflected in the avant-garde works of the two representatives, configuring a strong visual dimension and thus a spectacular absurdity of the human body, inspired by the front-line experiences of the European avant-garde artists. Dehumanization and the monstrous, the grotesque, the hybrid, the cadaver, the incongruity of anatomical elements, behavioral deviations and irrational acts, zoomorphism or the mechanization of the human are recurring themes of avant-garde works that highlight this cause-effect relationship between the trauma of war, with the real lived experience, and their mirroring in literary texts (by Romanian avant-garde representatives, such as Urmuz, Tristan Tzara, Ilarie Voronca, etc.) or in paintings (through representatives of modern plastic art and the avant-garde, such as George Grosz, Otto Dix, Max Ernst, etc.). Considering the common experience surrounding the First World War, a moment of amplification of the artistic crisis at the beginning of the 20th century, the two proposed works present a new vision of the alienated modern human, a crisis of the human representation generated by the anxieties and trauma of the war, through which the individual becomes a composite, deformed, sickly creature, made up of heterogeneous elements, a melting point. In this way, those elements of vision, specific to avant-gardes and modernity (as a generic term), which contribute to mirroring the experience of war, will be analyzed. Both works are based on a modern aesthetic vision, nuanced on the basis of avant-garde formulas, considering the themes and motifs they encompass, the style, the construction of the characters, the images and, thus, the predominantly visual dimension, respectively the way in which the narrative discourse is constructed in the case of the text Emil Gayk by Urmuz and the way in which the techniques and images specific to surrealism become complementary in the painting Barbarii (The Barbarians) by Max Ernst. Through an interdisciplinary approach, we can observe how, both in literature and in art, this new perspective on “the human” is proposed, in the context of the crisis of their representation.

Attention Seeking: Tristan Tzara's Art Critical Prose Poetry

This article examines Tristan Tzara's innovative art critical writing of the 1940s and shows how the poet's engagement with European avant-garde painting developed ideas that shaped Paris Dada during the 1920s. Focusing on essays about Joan Miró and Paul Klee, it is argued that Tzara employed an unorthodox language for writing about art and promoted a distinctive style of art critical prose poetry. His approach to art criticism is shown to raise specific issues about attention by problematizing how audiences might have regard to words, sounds, and pictures simultaneously. Taking his cue from the distinctive ontologies he finds in works by Miró and Klee, Tzara uses language to perform with painting rather than conveying ideas about it. In a distinctive linguistic performance that borders on music, Tzara's art critical prose poems are seen to mobilize elements of language and visual art in non-hierarchical, undirected ways, thereby prompting a complex phenomenological exercise in attention. Cet article examine les essais critiques sur l'art que Tristan Tzara a écrit pendant les années quarante et montre comment l'engagement du poète avec la peinture d'avant-garde européenne lui a fourni l'occasion de développer des idées qui ont façonné les débuts de Paris Dada. En se concentrant sur des essais sur Joan Miró et Paul Klee, il est soutenu que Tzara a créé un langage peu orthodoxe pour écrire sur l'art et a promu un style distinctif de poésie en prose critique. Cette façon d'aborder la peinture soulève des questions spécifiques sur l'attention en problématisant la manière dont le lecteur pourrait considérer simultanément les mots, les sons et les images. S'inspirant des ontologies distinctives qu'il trouve dans les œuvres de Miró et de Klee, Tzara utilise le langage pour jouer avec la peinture plutôt que de transmettre des idées à son sujet. Dans une performance linguistique distinctive qui frôle la musique, les poèmes en prose critique de Tzara mobilisent des éléments du langage et de l'art visuel de manière non hiérarchique et non dirigée, provoquant ainsi un exercice phénoménologique complexe de l'attention.

Performing the Paradox in the Theatre of Tristan Tzara

Co-founder of the Dada movement, Tristan Tzara, wrote and produced three stage plays during the Paris Dada period (1920–1923). This article discusses Tzara's third play, The Gas Heart (1921) to show his unique application of theatricality. The text of The Gas Heart is interrupted in Act III by a dance presented as a typographical illustration. While event programmes substantiate the performance of the dance during presentations of the play (1921 and 1923) it remains unknown how the diagram informed the action of the dance. I argue that Tzara's dance exemplifies the paradox central to Tzara's creative programme. Applying Samuel Weber's definition of theatricality, this paper explores The Gas Heart dance as an expression of ‘singular duplicity’ (Weber, 2004), but one that opens ways for performing the paradox in the theatre of Tristan Tzara.

Open Your Ears, Paris Dada! Where Is Your Music Coming From?

The historical record tells us that music of many kinds was played at Paris Dada events. There was piano music from the contemporary high art tradition; there was jazz; and there was also ‘anti-music’, later described (not entirely credibly) by its composer Georges Ribemont-Dessaignes. None of this music finds an audible echo in the Paris Dada manifestos of Tristan Tzara. Music is central to his discourse on Dada; but it is music as incarnated, out of time, by the physical musical instrument, not music as it was played in live performance and received by an audience in real time. The reason is the Dada refusal to see art as anything that can be defined, or as the communication of a message sent by a human agent. The instrument, as a physical object, cannot, in Dada, be seen through to the art or the artist beyond. This is in many ways a logically untenable position, because we never cease to believe that the music we hear is something more than the instrument on which it is played. Lies have to be told in order for Dada to occupy that untenable position. But Tzara assumes those lies, and the necessity for them; and so do I.

Fashioning simultaneous migrations: Sonia Delaunay and inter-war Romanian connections

This article analyses the connections between the worlds of fine art and fashion through the complex interconnections between the Parisian-Eastern European creative exile. It follows the common threads between Ukrainian-Jewish artist and fashion designer Sonia Delaunay (1885–1979) and prominent inter-war Parisian Romanians: namely, Tristan Tzara, Constantin Brâncuși and Lizica Codreanu. I suggest the concept of ‘simultaneous migrations’ to illustrate fashion’s mobility beyond and across cultural differences, identities and aesthetics through Sonia Delaunay’s philosophy of Simultaneity, focusing on her inter-war Romanian connections in Paris. The research bridges across the fields of fashion studies, art history and cultural studies, in order to explicate the synapses that shed light on Sonia Delaunay’s ideas of Simultaneity and colour theories to Paris as an ideological, cultural, artistic and identity hub.

The Lines Between the Lines: How Stage Directions Affect Embodiment

The Lines Between the Lines: How Stage Directions Affect Embodiment

Transmission Mysteries: Art and Technophilia

Transmission Mysteries: Art and Technophilia

On Tristan Tzara and Steve Bannon

In 2021, the Suter Gallery (Nelson) mounted a group show of Aotearoa artists whose work embraces absurdity. One of Bryce Galloway’s offerings to the show was the catalogue essay, reworked and re-presented here. The essay investigates whether the well-worn proposition that absurd art finds greater currency in times of socio-political duress still holds in the face of today’s accelerating online narratives and divergent internet realities.

NFTs and Digital Art

NFTs and Digital Art

Tristan Tzara, Cabaret Voltaire and Dada: A Theatrical Avant-Garde, 1916-1924

This essay examines Dada in its performative and theatrical form as practised in Zurich from 1916 by Cabaret Voltaire and subsequently by Tristan Tzara in post-war Paris from 1920. Amongst Cabaret Voltaire personnel, Hugo Ball's 'sound poetry' performances and Richard Huelsenbeck's political variation of Dada in Berlin are also considered, alongside the influence of F. T. Marinetti and Futurism on Dada in its early phases. Tzara's 'Dada Manifesto 1918' is analysed as an exercise in non-determination of Dada as a coherent movement, even as it functioned as a calculated piece of self-promotion. As Tzara took Dada to Paris, his association with André Breton and Francis Picabia is traced through notable Dada 'manifestations' and selected publications, with the legacy of Alfred Jarry's Ubu Roi commemorated by both Tzara and Breton. Dada was a short-lived sensation in the Parisian avant-garde; the fracturing of the collaboration between Tzara and Breton is detailed in the mock-trial of Maurice Barrès and the disastrous second performance of Tzara's The Gas Heart in 1923. Breton's subsequent ‘Manifesto of Surrealism‘ of 1924 has often been seen to override Dada, with Breton's tight definition and policing of the movement demonstrating very different priorities from Tzara's. In conclusion, Antonin Artaud is considered as a proponent of surrealism in theatre with The Spurt of Blood (1925), and it is suggested that a combination of Artaud's and Tzara's versions of Dada still speaks to and influences many forms of contemporary performance.

The Head and the Load

Reviewed by: The Head and the Load Megan Lewis THE HEAD AND THE LOAD. Directed by William Kentridge. Park Avenue Armory, New York City. December 4–15, 2018. Ever since Hegel (1956) speciously framed Africa as “the land of childhood, which lying beyond the day of self-conscious history, is enveloped in the dark mantle of Night,” Africans have been written out of history. William Kentridge’s The Head and the Load brings African agency back into focus and onto the stage. When in his Ted Talk “Can Art Amend History?” Titus Kaphar whitewashed the faces of the Europeans in Franz Hals’s Family Group in a Landscape (1645–48) to reveal the anonymous black boy standing amid them, he made that child visible to history. A boy, otherwise unknown and unmarked by the European sensibility that wrote people of color out of their historical narratives, took center stage. Part of the postcolonial imperative is to reassess the historiography of World War I that egregiously omitted the contributions of Africans to the war effort, following the colonial logic, South African artist and theatre-maker Kentridge explains in his director’s note, “Lest their actions merit recognition, their deeds must not be recorded.” The Head and the Load, which draws its title from the Ghanaian proverb “the head and the load are the troubles of the neck,” attempts to correct that omission. The piece was structured in three acts— Manifestos, Paradox, and War—and premiered in December 2018 in the cavernous space of the Park Avenue Armory on New York City’s Upper East Side. This audacious multimedia performance installation addresses the historic erasure of the hundreds of thousands of Africans who served as porters in World War I, literally carrying Europe on their backs. The piece does important labor of remembering absent African subjects, of reframing the war as global and not solely European, and of telling African stories from a postcolonial point of view. Click for larger view View full resolution Joanna Dudley (left), Xolani Dlamini (right), and Mario Gotoh (with viola) in William Kentridge’s The Head and the Load. (Photo: Stephanie Berger.) During The Head and the Load, multimedia projections, live actors, opera singers, moving dancers, and stage props filled the fifty-five-meter stage. African performers in the present populated the empty spaces of history out of which Africans have been written. Kentridge claims that the piece acknowledges and documents absent Africans and marks the “historical incomprehension (and inaudibility and invisibility)” that has erased them from history. A central question he explores in the work is how to think about history as collage, not just narrative. Playing on the notion of history as collage, and inspired by the Dada movement of the postwar moment, the text of the work is an amalgam of sources juxtaposed and sutured together: Fanon translated into siSwati; Tristan Tzara in isiZulu; Wilfred Owen in French and dog-barking; phrases from a handbook of military drills; Aimé Césaire. Rendering some of Europe’s great thinkers and innovators in Bantu languages is itself an act of reclamation and dissent; it ruptures the tyranny of global English and articulates philosophical complexities in idioms often deemed less sophisticated. Africans speak back to empire. And Kentridge’s Dada framing of the piece marks the futility and nonsensical nature of the language of colonialism. The musical score by Philip Miller and Thuthuka Sibisi is equally complex in its sampling: a cabaret [End Page 90] song by Austrian American composer Arnold Schoenberg, percussive slaps on hymn books, a Viennese waltz by violinist Fritz Kreisler. Amid this cacophonous Eurocentric soundscape, Kentridge has Africa talk back to Europe through rhythmic chanting and war songs. Click for larger view View full resolution Mncedisi Shabangu (center) in William Kentridge’s The Head and the Load. (Photo: Stephanie Berger.) The dynamic projections designed by Catherine Meyburgh cover the expanse of the stage on three immense screens. They include colonial maps; Kentridge’s signature animated charcoal drawings; data about the numbers of porters recruited, black lives lost, and causes of death; typewritten phrases such as “this is a fair idea of progress” and “darkness has eaten her own child.” Taken together, the live...

The Music of Dada: A Lesson in Intermediality for Our Times by Peter Dayan

Reviewed by: The Music of Dada: A Lesson in Intermediality for Our Times by Peter Dayan Joseph Acquisto Dayan, Peter. The Music of Dada: A Lesson in Intermediality for Our Times. Routledge, 2019. ISBN 978-1-138-49186-1. Pp. 182. This well-researched, well-documented study challenges what we think we know about Dadaist music, i.e., that it was noisy and unconventional, driven mostly by drumming and instrument smashing, and provoked riots on a regular basis. This is an inaccurate picture, but one promoted by Dadaists themselves. Dayan explains why it is inaccurate by examining points of continuity and rupture in performance of, and discourse about, music among Dadaists in Zurich, Paris, Berlin, New York, and Holland. Zurich Dada "had music," Paris "had both music and anti-music," whereas Berlin "had, it seems, no music; at least no composed music" (151). The Dadaists' anti-music "called itself music, in order to challenge every verbal definition of music" (106). Anti-music co-existed alongside more conventional Western art music to an extent far greater than the Dadaists themselves let on in their writings. Dayan demonstrates that in Zurich and Paris conventional tonal Western art music was often featured on Dadaist programs, performed (most often on the piano by women) and appreciated by the audience. To understand why the Dadaists essentially edited this tonal piano music out of their accounts of the movement, Dayan appeals to two kinds of music: on the one hand, audible music, about which we can say nothing because it "demands to be surrounded by silence" (14). On the other hand, "an imaginary ideal music. We cannot hear it; it cannot be performed. But we are free to talk about it, and indeed to present it, in our words, as an imaginary backdrop to all the arts" (14). By enacting these unwritten assumptions, the Dadaists participate in an aesthetic that goes back at least as far as the Symbolists, who upheld an unheard, silent music as a vehicle for talking about music. Dayan insightfully links this erasure of music to the way in which music is gendered in Dada: while male Dada poets refrain from talking about music in order to prevent it from losing its status as music by being transformed into discourse, "Dada's women, being under less of an obligation to protect that art since they do not create it, are freer to talk about music. Hence the fact that our only descriptions of Dada improvised simultaneous rhythmic poetry are from women: Suzanne Perrottet and Hannah Höch" (168). Dayan accounts for the contested place of music in Paris Dada by appealing to its "dual ancestry," Zurich's musically rich movement and New York pre-Dada, which "cast [music] out" (50). The book is rich in quoted published and archival material from many artists, writers, and musicians including Tristan Tzara, "one of the prime movers behind the presence of music at the Dada soirées in Zurich, Paris, and Weimar" (158), André Breton, Francis Picabia, [End Page 218] and Georges Ribemont-Dessaignes. It gives a well-rounded portrait of music in both theory and performance in the international Dada movement and is essential reading for those interested in the intersection of the arts in the early twentieth century and beyond. Joseph Acquisto University of Vermont Copyright © 2020 American Association of Teachers of French

From the Gutter to the Gallery: Berenice Abbott Photographs Mina Loy's Assemblages

In 1958 Marcel Duchamp and a friend gained access to the modernist poet Mina Loy's apartment on stanton street near the Bowery in New York, so that they could display the art she was storing there in a one-woman show of her assemblage artwork (Burke, Becoming 433–34). The show, which Loy herself couldn't attend since she was unwell and living with family in Aspen, Colorado, was known as the Bodley Gallery Exhibition and generated considerable interest, even drawing the increasingly reclusive Djuna Barnes to its lively opening (434). The show was described by Stuart Preston in a New York Times review as a boxing match between the popular art of the time and “Mina Loy's shocking and macabre big collages, composed most graphically of refuse, and inspired by scenes near the Bowery” (qtd. in Burke, Becoming 434). Loy's dadaist assemblages, Preston's review made clear, were a formidable opponent not only of mainstream art but also of the larger politics of art at the time: the “alliance” they reflected “between Dada and social comment,” he wrote, was “downright sinister,” and they contained a slightly apocalyptic undercurrent of social critique. Loy's artwork incorporated discarded objects, such as bottles and pieces of cardboard, from New York City's liminal spaces—especially the Bowery's alleys and abandoned buildings, places where the homeless and unemployed gathered in desperate conditions. Transporting the gutter to the gallery, this body of work depended on her close relationship to the city's so-called refuse, the homeless people she befriended who helped her collect the objects she recycled as art. It has been almost impossible to know what Loy's body of assemblage artwork—carefully dusted off and hung up by Duchamp—looked like at the Bodley Gallery show. But one fellow Bowery artist, the American photographer Berenice Abbott, had photographed Loy's assemblages. Abbott and Loy had been friends since the 1920s, when they frequented the same art scene in Paris, where Abbott was Man Ray's assistant. Abbott photographed Loy's children, and the two artists are pictured together, along with Tristan Tzara, Jane Heap, and Margaret Anderson, in a famous photograph taken at a party in Constantin Brancusi's studio in 1920.1 In this image, Loy and Abbott fill the center of the frame; Abbott's eyes confront the camera, as if to say, “I know what you're up to,” her confident head emerging over Loy's right shoulder—Loy looking as ethereal as she does glamorous. Their friendship picked up again in New York in the 1940s and 1950s, where it was defined by Abbott's interest in Loy's success and well-being.

Collage as Form and Idea in the Art Criticism of Tristan Tzara

Collage as Form and Idea in the Art Criticism of Tristan Tzara