ABSTRACT
Imagine the following scene: it is the summer of 1966 and we are standing before a somewhat derelict storefront in San Francisco (fig. 1). Above the ripped awning a sign reads “California Grocery” and adjacent to it a “Drink Coca-Cola” advertisement is still in place. The former storeowner has clearly vacated the premises and whereas the space appears to have a new tenant, its current function is not apparent. Therefore, let us step inside, uninvited, in order to investigate. There are not many intelligible signs of activity that strike our eye upon entry. The room is furnished in a sparse manner with a single table and chair. In the far corner an untidy group of various objects–cans, bags, bottles, and cups–are randomly dispersed along the wall or perch precariously upon a few wooden shelves. The walls are devoid of decoration, the floor unswept. The messy interior is occupied by a solitary figure, not as a dwelling apparently, but as a place of work. Yet in the absence of any recognizable tools, in so far as we can detect, it becomes difficult to ascertain his trade. And if we stay long enough, his conduct provides no obvious clues to his profession, either, as he is not so much indolent, as engaged in highly repetitious, seemingly mundane forms of activity. His customary behavior appears to consist of sitting in the chair while sipping coffee or, alternatively pacing back and forth across the floor. There is little work being done of any recognizable fashion. Nauman in the doorway of his San Francisco studio, c. 1966 A man wearing a checkered shirt and pants stands in the doorway of his studio, named California Grocery. The store has a sign for Coca-Cola and resembles a derelict with torn awnings and visible wear. https://www.w3.org/1999/xlink" xlink:href="https://s3-euw1-ap-pe-df-pch-content-public-p.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/9781003697329/ab8c022b-5032-48de-8c3c-c2fc60292625/content/pg189_1.jpg"/>
