Vicky A. Clark Throughout the often daunting Lask of trying to comprehend the hundred-year history of the Carnegie International as a well-integrated narrative, I kept recalling Christian Boltanski's work, La riserve du Carnegie International 1896-1991 (The archive of the Canugrt lntrrna1ional•896-•991 ), from the 1991 International exhibition. For several rea.o;ons, his installation, located in a dark basement space and shaped like a corridor,' became a metaphor for this challengi11g historical enterprise. Boltanski preceded the authors of this volume in mining Lhe exhibition's history. H is investigations produced a work in the form of thoLisands of cardboard boxes arranged along functional shelving. Each box was labeled with the name of an artist who had exhibited in the International, along with the year or years in which he (or, far less ofi:en, she) had done so; each box was empty, as if waiting to be filled with documents and artifacts related m the artist. Curious viewers, looking for recognizable names, were overwhelmed by the sheer number of boxes. Bolranski himself, in a challenge to those involved in the art world, s:tid that a true curator should recognize at least four hundred names- a mere ren percent of those displayed and also listed in the artist's book that accompanied the installation. Boltanski's work humbled every audience. Boltanski's installation w::ts :1 postmodern critique of the way in whi.ch we construct history, an illustration of the fact that accumulating knowledge- let alone und.erstandi11g Lt-is nor simple, straightforward, or objective. By deliberately gathering only names and dates, Boltanski called attention to rhe deeper levels of understanding chat were missing. He implicitly questioned our ability to find truth in mere details. Despite skepticism like Bolranski's, and the unending revelation and revision of the past prompted by histor[cal material, we Still tend to think of history as an accurate record of what happened in earlier times. Vve forget chat history is a work permanently in progress, a shifting creation that is shaped by those who write it. Rcfi·acted by the pt·ism of each historian's own time and experience, history becomes but is open to interpretation and/ or manipulation. a personal, sometimes idiosyncratic, combination His archival installation, characterized as it was by of fact and fiction, a mixture of what we know and deconstructionist themes, was shaped by the theoret­ what we believe. ical concerns of irs time-as were Boltanski's views of reality and truth. It was in this light that I kept Boltanski's project in mind as we began investigating the history of the If the number of Boltanski's boxes hinted at the mag­ Carnegie International. Our understanding of the ni tude of the historical cask this volume represents, International depends upon the state of the evidence their random arrangement suggested the task's com­ and our ability to evaluate and interpret what infor­ plexity by reflecting the disorganization of the mation is available. On a fundamental level, Boltanski's actual International archives, housed at both the "archive" was inaccurate. In the process of compil­ Museum and the Archives of American Art in ing his lists, he made no attempt to ensure accuracy Washington, D.C. Furthermore, just as there were and so, in fact, mistakes abounded. To mention gaps in Boltanski's archives, there are gaps in the a few: George de Forest Brush's name appeared as Museum's, where tempting references proved elusive. George de Forest Browne; other artists' names For example, we searched in vain for notebooks that were missing altogether; dates were incorrect. The were prepared for director Homer Saint-Gaudens's "record" was tainted. Boltanski's ambiguities and European travels, notebooks that reportedly list all errors reRected rhose in rhe "real" archives that raise the foreign artists he considered for his exhibitions, many questions for historians. Why is Frank Benson's with notes about studio visits, dealers, and so on. Also prizewinning work, PMtrait of a Boy, listed in both not found was any evidence of a notebook about the 1896 and 1897 shows? Are the long lists of foreign che participation of Italian artists in the exhibitions advisors to the exhibition even remotely accurate? chat Saint-Gaudens prepared and presented to Some who were asked to consult accepted but did Mussolini. Similarly, the many primary sources which not serve because of illness or death; yet their names could provide insights into decisions chat shaped remain on the roster. How did some paintings, che various Internationals-from irs establishment such as a recently discovered Picasso, come to bear to irs recem reorganizations- either no longer exist International labels when they are not listed in any or are awaiting discovery in some obscure location.2 ex hibition catalogue? Attempts to resolve such Add co che record's incompleteness the need co discrepancies-and the ones mentioned here are interpret the evidence we do have, and the historian's but a few examples- might cake a lifetime of cask becomes even more complex. To take one tedious fact checking. example: when David Smith refUsed the third prize Boltanski, though, was delighted by these riddles. for sculpture in the 1961 exhibition, he wrote to He understood the complications of incompleteness, the Fine Arts Committee of Carnegie Institute: "I do ambiguity, and subjectivity that permeate the enter­ not wish co accept the prize your guest jury has hon­ prise of history. This is evident in other pieces ored me with. I wish the money involved returned to by Boltanski, including Les S1tisses mMis (The dead Institute directors, and I hope applied co use for Swiss), also in the 1991 International, a work in purchase. I believe the awards system in our day is which photographs gathered from obituaries in Swiss archaic. In my opinion all costS of jury. travel, mis­ newspapers were rephotographed and enlarged, cellaneous expenses of the award machinery could be thereby accentuating the subjects' eyes and giving more honorably extended m the artist by purchase." them the appearance of Holocaust victims. Implicit T he letter, which Smith also sent to the New York in this work is Boltanski's acknowledgment that Times for publication, led co the Museum's purchase photography (like history) is not wholly objective, of several Smith drawings. However, Smith's personal correspondence revealed another side to his rejection I of the prize: "Was Pia:sburgh & back-got 3rd Bischoff, Elmer prize, refused it at once. 3rd class virtue I don't want 1964. 1967 -rather be old whore. Will sray our of competitions now.''3 Both his public and private reactions were probably genuine, yet each is misleading without the other. Together they g•ve a more complete picture, but their seeming contradictions complicate histori­ cal interpretation. - L1terprecation, though, is what history is all about, Bouch, l ouis Alexandre and it is all we have when we look at perhaps the 1897. 1901, 1934. 1935, 1937. 193~. most important figure in the Carnegie International's history: Andrew Carnegie himself. To deploy a pop­ ular metaphor, there is no "smoking gun" here- no direct, irrefutable evidence of Carnegie's vision of the International. Although he was a prolific writer (author of eight books, sixry-rhree articles in major magazines, and a voluminous correspondence), Carnegie was uncharacteristically silent on the exhi­ Browne. George de Forest bition that now bears his name. We are left to infer his intentions from other sources, including "The Gospel of Wealth," an article published in two parts in N~rth American Review in r889; Carnegie's addresses at the dedication of Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh in 1895 and at the opening of the ex­ panded facilities in 1907; his Letters to various officials at Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh; the deed of Degas. Edgar Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, in which he set forth 1!196. 1897. 1900. 190 1. 1902. 19:!0 his gift and his few specific stipulations; and such publications as his article about rne Chicago World's Fair of 1893 in Er~gineering Magazine.4 From t.hese various starements, it appears that Carnegie envisioned an annual exhibition that would combine aspects of the Paris Salons and the world's fairs, and would thereby introduce to Pittsburgh and Murray, El izabeth ils citizens the best European and American art­ 1988 art that was already available ro the citizens of many European capitals. I lis goals, which scholars and curators would attempt ro describe, clarifY, and reflect throughout the: next century, were both concrete and ephemeral. But he was explicit in his desire that the • Museum's permanent collection be built through the - - ~- acguisition of works fi-om each annual exhibition. Rotella. Mimmo Boxes from Bo ltanski's 195 1, 1964 1991 International installation. • In the process, Carnegie directed, the Museum would generate a Chronological Collection of the best American works, those that would become "old mas­ ters with time." 5 By these means, Carnegie hoped also to chart the progress of art in his adopted home­ land and co transform industrial Pittsburgh inco a cultural capital. More generally, he wanted to inspire and educate audiences and artists alike, stimulating American artists to achievements equal to those of their European countcrparts.6 And Carnegie desired Jl,•,.anl.l'rU<Irnct• 1935 llucl;;lins, ··r:om·c., 19'!0 llc"'l'!i. Maddint· 1952. llmll!kin. llnllllrCI 198.'i that the exhibition spread peace and goodwill 1 %~. 1953 ll nd~,on. Tom 1955 throughout the world, presumably by enlightening lh·) hoer, Anton Will llufc·r. 1\nrl 1'.125. 19:lll.