My brother Howard alerted me to the death of Fluxus artist Ben, aka Ben Vautier, who died recently at the age of 88. I asked Howard to write something about him:
Ben Vautier, one of the original Fluxus artists from the early 60s, was known simply as “Ben”. That is how he signed his work, and in a child-like cursive, too. He helped that silly and profound movement find its voice and place in Modern Art, a world they also rejected. “Taking art out of the museum and putting it out in the street.” “Concerned with insignificance.” Ben’s performances were legendary. He lived for a week in a gallery window for all to see. His écritures (written paintings) were primitive and pioneering. Ben shot himself last week, the day after his wife died of a stroke. They had been married 60 years.
I was lucky to see Ben in 1993. He was part of a Fluxus Symposium I attended at Walker in Minneapolis. Allison Knowles and Dick Higgins were there, too. Ben was seemingly bored and fidgety on the panel while dissertations were being presented (one decided once and for all that Fluxus actually started in Wiesbaden in 1962. I was in Wiesbaden in 1962!). At one point when a critic was talking about what Fluxus really was, Ben unfolds a paper bag he had in his pocket and blows it up, pops it loudly and exclaims, THAT is Fluxus! I was thrilled even being in the same room as these grand old weirdos. Allison Knowles performed the Bean Book and I somehow ended up with Dick Higgins’ copy of Buster Keaton poems. It was a very formative week for me, thanks Ben.
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