The Watchdogs of Art: Dubuffet’s Radical Vision

Jean Dubuffet once declared, “Caprice, independence, and rebellion, which are opposed to the social order, are essential to the good health of an ethnic group. We shall measure the good health of this group by the number of its delinquents. Nothing is more immobilizing than the spirit of deference.” For Dubuffet, nonconformity wasn’t just an artistic stance—it was a life force. This energy fueled creativity, personal freedom, and societal progress.

As I sit in Le Havre, Dubuffet’s birthplace—keenly aware of the city’s Nazi occupation during World War II—I find myself more deeply fascinated by his influence. This city, where I’ve lived for the past six months, feels like the perfect place to contemplate Dubuffet’s rebellious spirit. Dubuffet didn’t simply create art—he revolutionized it. In the 1940s, he coined the term Art Brut (raw art) to describe works by self-taught artists, psychiatric patients, prisoners, and others working outside the mainstream art world. He celebrated these creators for producing art that was more authentic, uninfluenced by societal expectations, and free from the limitations imposed by the art elite. Strangely, however, despite the deep impact of his work, the Musée d’Art Moderne André Malraux (MUMA), which holds Dubuffet’s Ontogénèse from 1975 (in English Ontogenesis) —a piece he donated to the museum in his hometown—doesn’t display it. At least that’s what it says on the website and I didn’t see it during my last visit.

Dubuffet’s relationship with psychiatric institutions, particularly through his exposure to the Prinzhorn Collection and Hans Prinzhorn’s 1922 Expression of Madness, deepened my curiosity about him. This connects to my research on Aktion T-4 for a personal project, the Nazi regime’s involuntary euthanasia program, through which 300,000 people with mental illnesses and physical disabilities were murdered—victims of an oppressive regime that not only denied them life but erased their voices.

One such victim was German artist Elfriede Lohse-Wächtler, who, during the rise of fascism, suffered a psychological breakdown. At a time when rigid gender roles and persecution ran rampant, she was forcibly institutionalized and later killed under Aktion T-4. Many artists in the Prinzhorn Collection endured similar fates—persecuted, institutionalized, and in some cases, murdered. Their art, once seen as “degenerate,” was erased from history. Some of these works were even displayed in the infamous 1937 Degenerate Art Exhibition.

The difference between the Prinzhorn Collection and Dubuffet’s Collection de l’Art Brut—now housed in Lausanne—lies in how these artists were seen. The Prinzhorn Collection framed their work through a clinical lens, positioning these creators as patients rather than artists. In contrast, Dubuffet fought to reframe the contributions of artists with psychiatric illnesses as legitimate artistic expressions. He displayed them alongside other self-taught and marginalized creators in museums and galleries, refusing to let institutions dictate what counted as “real” art.

By championing Art Brut, Dubuffet defied the conventional gatekeepers of art. He rejected the idea that art’s value could only be defined by the cultural and academic elite, instead promoting voices that had been silenced or overlooked.

With this historical context in mind, I was eager to visit the “Jean Dubuffet: Banc-salon et Cerfs-volants” exhibition at Galerie Lelong in Paris. This exhibit is part of a wider celebration, coinciding with “Dubuffet Monumental” at the Fondation Dubuffet and “Jean Dubuffet: The Hourloupe Cycle” at Pace Gallery in New York.

Thus, I took a Flixbus from Le Havre to La Défense in Paris, then transferred to the metro, and finally made my way to the gallery on 13 Rue de Téheran.

The exhibition at Galerie Lelong reflects Dubuffet’s radical defiance. Upon entering the first room, I was immediately struck by the three imposing sculptures from 1969: Chien de Guet I, Chien de Guet II, and Chien de Guet II bis. Their titles, in English Watchdogs Standing Guard, felt both commanding and cryptic, underscored by their unusual shapes.

Beyond these sculptures, through an archway leading into the second room, I saw the centerpiece of the exhibit: an edition of Banc-salon and Cerfs-volant (1970), a piece originally meant for Dubuffet’s Logological Cabinet at Villa Falbala. This was a space designed to facilitate deep, contemplative thinking—a space far removed from the distractions of Paris, where ideas could flourish in solitude.

Villa Falbala was not created as a retreat from isolation but as a place of intellectual freedom—where thought could expand beyond the conventional boundaries imposed by society. Here, Dubuffet transformed solitude from a tool of control—used by institutions and regimes to isolate and suppress—into an empowering refuge for radical ideas.

Dubuffet’s rejection of traditional formalism parallels the radical doubt of French philosopher René Descartes. But where Descartes sought certainty in the act of thinking (cogito, ergo sum), Dubuffet embraced uncertainty itself. His work celebrates chaos, unpredictability, and the subconscious—similar to American philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson’s idea of self-reliance, urging us to trust our inner instincts instead of external structures of authority.

The stark black-and-white contrasts in Récit érigé (1970), as seen in the Chien de Guet series and Banc-salon and Cerfs-volants, immediately grabbed my attention. The simplicity of this color palette underscores the tension between opposing ideologies in Dubuffet’s work, evoking France’s tumultuous history—especially the Nazi occupation, with its stark division of good and evil. Could this stark duality in his work be Dubuffet’s response to a world that seems intolerant of nuance?

Before entering the second room, I encountered Site aux Impatients (1966/1967), a chaotic, puzzle-piece-shaped piece in red, black, and blue. Amid the turmoil, shapes reminiscent of a human head or flexed bicep emerge. It’s a dense and perplexing image that invites one to question one’s interpretation, pulling one deeper into the emotional tension it evokes.

In the second room, the Parachiffres series (1975) stood out—spontaneous, unfiltered expressions in black ink. These fragile works represent the evolution of Dubuffet’s L’Hourloupe series, begun in 1962 as casual doodles and later developed into a full, intricate cycle. These pieces have an undeniable fluidity—a vitality that contrasts with the solid presence of his larger sculptures.

One striking piece is Scene à L’Invalide (1966/1967), created in the era following the Indochina War and during the Vietnam War. The piece evokes the trauma and psychological impact of conflict, much like the Les Invalides complex, which served as a specialized military hospital for veterans. The chaotic work, with its flesh tones, recalls the somber legacy of these wars, reflecting the deep scars left on both soldiers and society—much as Les Invalides continues to stand as a memorial to fallen soldiers and a place where military personnel have sought healing.

Similarly, Le Commodore (1971) challenges ideas of beauty and order. Its grotesque features, juxtaposed with red-and-blue striped areas next to monochrome ones, seem to satirize the establishment—perhaps a subtle critique of power structures like military or naval hierarchies.

The exhibition culminates with L’Aléatoire (1967/1968), a towering figure that evokes the tragic absurdity of life. With a disproportionately large head and an absent torso, this strange creature not only speaks to the discomforting nature of unpredictability but also evokes the idea of an incomplete figure, its gaze cast away. It captures the tension between presence and absence, reflecting on the unpredictability of both life and the act of creation itself. Fittingly, it is the most expensive piece in the show.

When I asked gallery director Patrice Cotensin whether the red, white, and blue in the works reflected the colors of the French flag, he explained, “No—the British and the US share the same colors.” However, there is undoubtedly a sense of patriotism woven into the fabric of these works.

Overall, the exhibition succeeds in challenging us to confront societal norms, the authorities who impose them, and those who defy them—whether through choice or force. It calls on us to recognize the voices of the marginalized and urges us to expand our understanding of art and life itself. Through Dubuffet’s lens, the value of a life is not defined by conformity but by its ability to create, express, and exist on its terms.

—

For more information, please visit the gallery’s website

Galerie Lelong

Jean Dubuffet

Banc-salon et Cerfs-volants

(March 20 – April 30, 2025)

https://www.galerie-lelong.com/fr/expositions/

I also made a short video, which I uploaded to YouTube, if you’d like to experience the exhibit. Thanks for your interest and support!

https://studio.youtube.com/video/R9wk01U6sjQ/editor

Image from the current Jean Dubuffet exhibition at Galerie Lelong. It shows the Chien de Guet series in the foreground (1969) and Récit érigé (1970) in the background. Photo credit: ARETE / Simone Suzanne Kussatz.

Image from the current Jean Dubuffet exhibition at Galerie Lelong. It features the main piece Banc-salon and Cerfs-volants, with the Parachiffres series (1975) on the walls. Photo credit: ARETE / Simone Suzanne Kussatz.