













|
Title |
S. M. S. (Shit Must Stop) |
|---|---|
| Publication |
New York City, A Letter Edged in Black Press, 1968 |
| Library Call # |
P&D NX1 .S12 (1-6) |
| Description |
6 volume Journal/Magazine |
| S. M. S. #1 Colophon |
Irving Petlin: Little Box of Earthquake and Cotton, Cover Design, Colored Ink on Heavy Paper, 11 x 14 inches |
| S. M. S. #1 Notes |
This first edition of S. M. S. contains eleven different projects from important conceptual artists and theorists working at the time. The packet’s small size determined the scale of the work, and allowed for the contributing artists to work both within and out of their comfort zone. Christo, who is most famous for his large environmental collaborations with his wife Jean-Claude, scaled down his practice in order to create a small sized two-dimensional diorama. Similarly, art critic Julian Levy contributed a list of prescriptions for faux medications, capsules included, for artists he determined in need of treatment. Both of these submissions allow for the artist’s voice to shine through, while still maintaining the integrity of Copley’s project. Unlike the following volumes of S. M. S., this first edition reads more like a journal or publication due to the mostly flat nature of the submissions. The following issues seem even more interactive, including games and toys, instead of purely visual stimuli. |
| S. M. S. #2 Colophon |
Marcel Duchamp: Cover, Record, remove to play, 11 x 7 inches closed |
| S. M. S. #2 Notes |
This second issue of S. M. S. seems more experimental than the first. The cover, designed by chairman of DADA, Marcel Duchamp, is a white folder with a playable record album attached to the front. Printed on the record itself is ESQUIVONS LES ECCHYMOSES DES ESQUIMAUX AUX MOTS EXQUIS, which roughly translates to “dodge the Eskimo bruises with exquisite words,” but functions as a sort of French tongue twister. Duchamp seems to be playfully addressing the restrictions inherent in more traditional portfolio design in order to redefine this practice. The record has aesthetic appeal, but it similarly has far greater use value than the first issue’s front cover, which was a reproduction of a painting. Another particularly provocative work in S. M. S. #2 is Bruce Connor’s Legal Tender. Connor mimics the design of American currency with his stack of eighteen “dollar bills,” which seem more reminiscent of Monopoly money than American legal tender. This element allows for the whole issue to feel like a game, as if you could trade Connor’s money for something more valuable. |
| S. M. S. #3 Colophon |
John Battan: Cover Design, six panel painting, 11 x 14 inches |
| S. M. S. #3 Notes |
|
| S. M. S. #4 Colophon |
Robert Stanley: Cover Design, black and white abstract painting, 11 x 14 1/2 inches |
| S. M. S. #4 Notes |
S. M. S. #4 seems slightly more esoteric than the previous three issues. Each piece is laden with a conceptual mythology that can be thoroughly investigated or just taken at face value, which seems a great leap from the playful nature of the first few issues. A particularly interesting work from S. M. S. #4 is Lil Picard’s burned bowtie. Each bowtie was hand burned, thus each number in the edition is slightly varied. The maroon and white polka dotted tie first appears as a joyful addition, but the burned edges seem a quite poignant dissenting argument. Other interesting works are Rotella’s prison poems, which were clandestinely written on scraps of paper during a five-month prison sentence in Rome, Italy. The tactile nature of the poems as works of art in their own right seems important for the overall impact of the piece, which elegantly replicates a minute part of Rotella’s prison experience. |
| S. M. S. #5 Colophon |
Congo: Cover Design, painted by Congo the Chimpanzee, 11 x 14 inches |
| S. M. S. #5 Notes |
Unlike the previous issues, S. M. S. #5 doesn’t appear to be projecting a specific sensibility upon the reader, thus making it seem more disparate than the others. This seems to be best exemplified by Yoko Ono’s contribution, entitled Mend Piece for John, which instructs, “Take your favorite cup. Break it in many pieces with a hammer. Repair it with this glue and this poem.” Included is a cardboard box containing a ribbon, plastic bag, instructions, a poem, and a tube of glue. Although Ono created this piece years before the Beatles disbanded, it seems almost premonitive of the years to come. Another similarly disparate piece from this issue is the front cover, which was painted by Congo, the chimpanzee, for a study of the creative potential of apes. It has been noted that Congo was the only chimpanzee who appeared to make aesthetic decisions about his painting, and thus could be featured along side these other artists for the issue. Like Ono’s piece, Congo’s painting seems eerily foreboding with its large red and black smears of paint. |
| S. M. S. #6 Colophon |
Richard Artschwager: Cover design, ink and coffee stains on heavy paper, 11 x 14 inches |
| S. M. S. #6 Notes |
S. M. S. #6, which is the last issue produced, makes a valorous attempt at preserving the initial integrity of the project. Richard Artschwager’s cover design is a simple image of a black shape reproduced on each surface of the cover, both inside and out, with reproductions of the exact coffee stains he accidentally made when producing the original. By approving of this accident, and reproducing it for the cover, Artschwager, and Copley seem to be making an argument about the place of beauty and mistake in the contemporary art world. The rest of the pieces in this final issue seem to be playful and mischievous manifestations of this same idea, with Adrian Nutbeem’s unsolvable crossword as well as Claes Oldenburg’s Unattended Lunches. The issue also comes with an apology, which reads, “The publishers of the Letter Edged in Black Press, Inc. regretfully announce that this is the last issue of S.M.S. that will appear. We have appreciated your support and hope you will remember our effort with appreciation.” The vague nature of the card supports the mischievous nature of this issue’s contents, while still maintaining the sincerity of the project. |
S. M. S., which often stood for "Shit Must Stop," was the brainchild of surrealist artist and art dealer William Copley, who in 1968 leased an Upper West Side loft that became the headquarters for a project of utopian ideals and immense proportions. S. M. S. consisted of six volumes, produced bi-monthly for a year, and featured work by artists from Claes Oldenburg to John Cage. The project consisted of pieces in all mediums encased in a portfolio and mailed directly to its subscribers, which Carter Ratcliff notes, "immersed art in the currents of real time."
Copley's loft had a full buffet, an open bar, and an aura of art production for its own sake. It is no surprise that acclaimed artists were enticed to submit to the periodical for the rate of $100 per submission. Money was no object for the project, so replication of even the most minute of details was essential for the project. Accidents were adored and playfulness was praised at S. M. S. studios, in order for this very original and idealistic edition to shine.
Opening up a volume of S. M. S. wasn't unlike unwrapping presents on Christmas morning, in which anything could be waiting: Roy Lichtenstein's paper hat was ready for donning, H.C. Westermann's mail was awaiting a recipient, and sometimes even a Marcel Duchamp original would pop out of the envelope. By transforming the way people understood and received works of art, Copley brought an industry of flatness into the third dimension.
Unfortunately, due to the sheer scope of the project and Copley's disinterest in economic restrictions, S. M. S. only lasted for six issues, or one year. Although the project was short lived, it still managed to traverse the boundaries between art and life for the time, and for future art production in the years to come.
Copley Estate Website
S. M. S.
Reinhold Brown Exhibition
Davidson Gallery Exhibition View website
Reinhold Brown Exhibition Catalog