What did Jackson Pollock intend when he painted Lavender Mist? Cariou v. Prince, and the importance of scripting the artist’s words.

Patrick Cariou’s lawyers have filed their brief (embedded below) in opposition to Richard Prince’s appeal of the decision holding that Prince’s appropriation’s of Cariou’s photographs constituted copyright infringement. Writing in artnet, Rachel Corbett explains, among other things, that Cariou’s legal team

is banking largely on the claim that Prince’s work failed to comment on or satirize Cariou’s photographs — a common objection against applying the fair use exception to copyright law.

While Prince’s lawyers, Boies, Schiller and Flexner, convincingly argue that “Canal Zone” is “transformative” of the original works, Cariou’s lawyers say that’s not enough. “That argument fails because, absent a justification for the appropriation, taking copyrighted work in order to create ‘something new’ has no practicable boundary and would effectively eviscerate the rights of copyright owners.”

After all, they point out, Prince plainly, arrogantly, and perhaps fatally, said in district court that he had no real interest in the meaning behind Cariou’s work, and that he used it strictly as “raw material.” It’s “taking for the sake of taking,” Cariou’s lawyers argue.

As I wrote nearly a year ago, I believe it would be absurd to conclude whether Prince’s use of Cariou’s work was transformative based on Prince’s words. Artist’s are not particularly gifted at putting into words what their works mean. Why, after all, would we need their work if their words would suffice?

As Sister Wendy Beckett explains in the Encyclopedia Britannica Online, in words that are so well accepted they are almost trite,

The passageway provided by art is very wide. No single interpretation of art is ever “right,” not even the artist’s own. He or she can tell us the intent of the work, but the actual meaning and significance of the art, what the artist achieved, is a very different matter. (It is pitiable to hear the grandiose discussions of artists’ work by the least talented of our contemporaries.) We should listen to the appreciations of others, but then we should put them aside and advance toward a work of art in the loneliness of our own truth. Each of us encounters the work alone, and how much we receive from it is wholly the effect of our will to accept this responsibility.

What was Jackson Pollock’s purpose in painting Lavender Mist? Van Gogh’s in painting The Irises? Haven’t we accepted by now the limitations focus on artistic intention would impose on our appreciation of art?  Nevertheless, in the decision enjoining the publication of a “sequel” to The Catcher in the Rye, the judge was significantly influenced by the fact the author and his representatives had described the work in words that didn’t fit the legal standard they wanted to meet:

Until the present lawsuit was filed, Defendants made no indication that 60 Years[the new work] was in any way a parody or critique of Catcher [in the Rye]. Quite to the contrary, the original jacket of 60 Years states that it is “. . . a marvelous sequel t one of our most beloved classics.” . . . Additionally, when initially confronted with the similarities between the two works, rather than explaining that60 Years was a parody or critique of Catcher, Colting’s [the new work’s author] literary agent, Mr. Sane, contended that 60 Years “is a completely freestanding novel that has nothing to do with the original Catcher in the Rye.” Opinion and Order at 16, n. 3.

Colting and his agent, obviously, should have called his work a parody and critique, not a sequel or a “freestanding novel.” Plainly, they had not been sufficiently counseled by lawyers who could have put the proper words in their mouths. It’s odd to think that being sufficiently versed in the mere words that would be consistent with the legal outcome you seek should make a difference, though. No matter what an artist said, his work would be the same.

In the same way, it seems odd that Prince’s refusal to articulate an artistic intent should be a determinant of the legitimacy of his artwork. The Amicus Brief filed in support of Prince’s appeal by the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts (also embedded below) makes precisely these points (at 31-34; hyperlinks added):

The district court found Prince’s work was not transformative based entirely on Prince’s apparent inability to verbalize the meaning of it to the court’s satisfaction, and the court’s own conclusions about Prince’s subjective intent.  See SPA-17-20. But transformative meaning must be assessed first and foremost by observation of the work itself, and whether new meaning and expression may  be reasonably perceived from it.  See Campbell, 510 U.S. at 582-83. In Campbell, the Court did not demand testimony from 2 Live Crew, or speculate about their subjective intentions. It concluded that elements of parody could reasonably be perceived from the work itself, and that was enough  to establish its new meaning and expression. See id.

Ultimately, the meaning of art is defined by the viewer, not a judge, or  even the artist himself. A viewer’s reaction to a work of art is shaped by the viewer’s personality, emotions, values, experience and knowledge. So while it is plainly dangerous for those trained in the law to judge the worth or meaning of art, see Campbell, 510 U.S. at 582-83, it is equally dangerous to pretend the meaning of art can be defined solely by the intention of the artist herself, much less her ability to articulate that intention to the satisfaction of judges and lawyers.  See Pleasant Grove City v. Summum, 555 U.S. 460, 476 (2009) (recognizing “it frequently is not possible to identify a single ‘message’ that is conveyed” by a government monument, and the sentiments it expresses “may be quite different from those of . . . its creator”); Hurley v. Irish-Am. Gay Lesbian & Bisexual Group of Boston, 515 U.S. 557, 569 (1995) (“a narrow, succinctly articulable message is not a condition of constitutional protection” for expressive speech).

That is not to say the testimony of the artist is irrelevant. If, as in Blanch [v. Koons], the artist can explain the intended meaning of his work and how it differs from the work he borrowed, that testimony may be quite informative. But the failure to provide an explanation as polished as the one Jeff Koons provided in Blanch cannot be fatal. If it were, then every artist who works within this tradition will be forced to concoct a narrative that appeals to legal sensibilities, and the law will succeed in protecting only those artists who are scripted by counsel.

Other rules that protect First  Amendment interests do not ask the speaker to demonstrate the value of her speech, or require her to persuade a judge of its worth.  Neither does copyright.  See Bleistein v. Donaldson Lithographing Co., 188 U.S. 239, 251 (1903) (Holmes, J.) (“It may be more than doubted, for instance, whether the etchings of Goya or the paintings of Manet would have been sure of protection when seen for the first time.”).

The long tradition of appropriating existing images in the context of collage and other expressive practices described in Section I clearly demonstrates the important new meaning and expression these uses deliver. The Court should recognize that the use of existing images in visual art may convey a wide array of transformative meaning that goes far beyond direct commentary on the original and is not limited by the expressed intentions of the artist.

Cariou v Prince Appeal, Brief for Plaintiff-Appellee

Cariou v Prince Warhol Foundation Amicus Brief

An Introduction to Copyright, Fair Use, and Appropriation Art, Part 1

In September, I spoke at SPACES on copyright and art, an opportunity that I used to go introduce copyright and fair use and the contentious issues that remain entirely unresolved in connection with appropriation art. I had an opportunity to give a similar talk last week at Wooster College.

You can see my presentation here. But the presentation, obviously, is only the starting point of a talk, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to “annotate” the presentation, providing some commentary and a lot of links to provide most of the content of the talk here and to supplement it for those who were there.

This post constitutes the first part of these annotations. I will continue this supplement to the presentation in the near future.

The first “slide” (I used Prezi, not PowerPoint, for the first time in this talk) is a video by Kutiman, a musician, composer, producer and animator from Israel. He is best known for creating an online video music project entitled ThruYOU consisting of individual videos mixed entirely from samples of YouTube videos.

The second slide is the title slide: What does an artist need to know about copyright law? Although I spoke a lot about appropriation art and copyright law, I emphasized my sincere belief that to negotiate the difficulties posed by copyright law in an era of novel and breathtaking technologies requires the gifts of an artist. I used Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup Can and Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster as 2 examples of what I was talking about in part because they encountered such different responses from the corporation from whom the artist appropriated his image. Warhol received an amusing and appreciative letter from Campbell’s Soup. Fairey was sued by the Associated Press, a lawsuit that was eventually settled and thus left unresolved the underlying legal questions.

The next 2 slides ask, “What is an artist?” and give one answer, provided by performance artist Guillermo Gómez Peña:

[T]he artist doesn’t really give answers. That is the role of the theorist, the scientist, the political activist, and the religious leader. The role of the artist is to ask impertinent and complex questions, irritating questions, and also to make the audience aware of the process of inquiry, and that’s where the pedagogical dimension lies—when the performance becomes the search, and when the process of search becomes the performance; and people see you struggling with meaning, with your own philosophical despair, with your political demons, and your own aesthetics.

Not only does this confrontation with questions that confront all of us strike me as central to the role of the artist; it also strikes me as central to the role of the lawyer. Moreover, one of the most difficult stumbling blocks in teaching law students is getting them over the belief that they will learn answers to the questions they will confront in their careers rather than the skill to identify the right questions and to best move forward in light of those questions.

Thus, the next 2 slides ask, “What is a lawyer?” and provide a quote from from Edward Levi, a legal scholar studied by first year law students when I went to law school but now largely neglected, to the effect that legal “rules” are not the sort of rules people typically expect:

[T]he rules change from case to case and are remade with each case. Yet this change in the rules is the indispensable dynamic quality of law. It occurs because the scope of a rule of law, and therefore its meaning, depends upon a determination of what facts will be considered similar to those present when the rule was first announced. The finding of similarity or difference is the key step in the legal process.

Lawyers then, like artists, must always be attentive to the similarities and differences that abound in the infinite complexity of human life. If you present me with a legal problem and an answer and then change one fact about the problem, the entire answer may change. Or may not. It depends. So if you’re looking for answers, you’ve come to the wrong place. Another situation is always different. But I can certainly let you in on what I deem important and why.

For the basic rules on copyright and fair use, the U.S. Copyright Office is a terrific starting point on all things copyright. If you are interested in knowing the basics about what you have to do to register a copyright and other nuts and bolts matters, go there.  Stanford’s Copyright and Fair Use Center is also a great resource on all of the questions addressed in my talk. I like the Copyright Website too.

In order to be protected by copyright, a work must be, among other things, “original.” The quintessential illustration of this requirement — which emphasizes that the mere “sweat of the brow” invested by the work’s creator is not sufficient to earn the work copyright protection — is Feist Publications, Inc., v. Rural Telephone Service Co., 499 U.S. 340 (1991), in which the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the substantial work of compiling and organizing the information required to put together a rural telephone directory did not entitle the directory to copyright protection. The information itself, though the result of the plaintiff’s hard work, constituted “mere facts,” and there was nothing original about the alphabetical arrangement. Thus, the defendant could not be stopped from copying the plaintiff’s directory and selling it as his own.

A more recent example of this principle with some bearing on appropriation art is the case of Meshwerks v. Toyota Motor Sales, Inc. (10th Cir. 2008), in wich the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals dismissed the copyright infringement case brought against Toyota by Meshwerks, which had created digital models of Toyota cars for use in Toyota’s advertising. The digital models are useful because if the art director wants the position of car changed within a photo, the entire scene does not need to be re-shot. All one needs to do is move the digital model around on a computer screen within the digital photograph of the background.

The digital model, while the product of skill, resulted merely in the reproduction of a car. The image itself is nothing more than an image of a fact. While the court noted the obvious difficulties of applying existing law to new technologies, it compared the digital images of cars created by Meshwerks to photographs. Since the invention of photography in the 19th Century — when it was believed by some that photography as a mere transmission of “reality” did not constitute art — courts have concluded that photographs are entitled to copyright protection but only to the extent the photograph consists of elements resulting from the photographer’s choices. Thus, a photograph “is entitled to copyright solely based on lighting, angle, perspective, and the other ingredients that traditionally apply to that art-form.”

Decisions rendering the photograph a protectable “intellectual invention” included: the posing and arrangement of [the subject] “so as to present graceful outlines”; the selection and arrangement of background and accessories; the arrangement and disposition of light and shade; and the evocation of the desired expression. Courts today continue to hold that such decisions by the photographer–or, more precisely, the elements of photographs that result from these decisions–are worthy of copyright protection. See, e.g., Rogers v. Koons (“Elements of originality in a photograph may include posing the subjects, lighting, angle, selection of film and camera, evoking the desired expression, and almost any other variant involved.”) (citations omitted).

The digital image of the car that could be inserted and manipulated within a digital image was, in contrast, merely a reproduction of a car. It would only be when an art director placed it within an image that choices regarding lighting, angle, and other elements would be chosen. In contrast, in Time, Inc. v. Bernard Geis Associates,  the court held that the famous “Zapruder film” was entitled to copyright protection. Abraham Zapruder, a Dallas dress manufacturer, had been taking home movie pictures with his camera, when, by sheer happenstance, he captured President Kennedy’s assassination on film. The court observed that “if Zapruder had made his pictures at a point in time before the shooting, he would clearly have been entitled to copyright.” The fact that the moment he filmed happened to be historic did not change that fact. And, if you’re interested, here’s another interesting photography case.

The fact that Congress has the power to pass laws protecting copyright is a result of the Constitution’s Copyright Clause. There are at least 2 important reasons the constitutional dimension of this power is important. First, the Copyright Clause expressly states that Congress has the power for the purpose of promoting innovation. Thus, to the extent copyright law inhibits innovation rather than promotion it, that law very may well be unconstitutional. In addition, copyright limits the ways people can express themselves and thus is a limitation on the freedom of expression protected by the First Amendment. Obviously, that freedom of expression is of supreme importance in our country. Thus, the conflict between the two constitutional rights — the right to protection of one’s creative product and the right of one to express oneself (even by means of another’s creative product) must be balanced. That balance is what results in the doctrine of fair use.

PBF on the interrelationships between law, technology, and the arts on 9/15

On September 15 at 6pm I’ll be speaking at SPACES on the interrelationships of art, law, and technology. SPACES is a gallery, a resource, and a public forum for artists who explore and experiment. To find it, go here.  There will some minor similarities, I suppose, to the talk I gave at the Cleveland Institute of Art two years ago, but this one promises to be significantly different and better.

The Barnes Foundation and Ownership: Outsmarting Albert Barnes

James Panero sets forth the historical detail on Albert Barnes and his foundation, much discussed on this blog, in his article Outstmarting Albert Barnes:

All in all, the same brilliance that created a legacy for Albert Barnes would ultimately undo his legacy. Since the time of Barnes’ death in an automobile accident in 1951, the Barnes Foundation has been a case study in how an institution, created by a brilliant mind with clear intentions, can become irrevocably damaged through overly restrictive operating guidelines, unanticipated leadership problems, and the competing missions of other organizations and institutions. Much attention has been paid to the forces at work against the foundation, but in fact the seeds of destruction were sown by the hands of Barnes himself. As history has proven, decisions he made in life imperiled the perpetuity of his collection after death.

Barnes made every effort to preserve the vision of his creation after his death. For the past 60 years, what we have seen at the Barnes is what Barnes put there himself. At this moment, however, Barnes’ art collection is being removed forever from the walls he built for it. Barnes knew he was creating something unique in the annals of American art. He was also right that outside forces would emerge to alter his project after his death. What he never anticipated was that the very defenses he put in place to preserve his collection would eventually contribute to its undoing.

I can’t help but feel that part of the problem in the Barnes Foundation dispute was the way we glorify ownership. As Panero reports, Julian Bond, the son of Barnes compatriot and Lincoln president Horace Mann Bond, expresses the view of those who opposed the move of the Barnes Foundation collection to urban Philadelphia by stating: “The art belonged to him. He had the right to do with it as he chose, and these people, these vandals, stepped in and took it away from him.”

But do we really want someone controlling the fate of $30 billion of art (much of it bought from desperate sellers during the Depression) 60 years after his death pursuant to instructions that make no sense at all if one is concerned about the art as culture?

Doesn’t anyone understand that just because you can make money off of it doesn’t mean it should be property?

Our culture’s obsession with ownership and control seems to know no bounds. Ray Madoff writes in the New York Times about ownership of a person’s identity after death:

According to Hebrew University of Jerusalem . . ., when it inherited Einstein’s estate, the bequest included ownership of Einstein’s very identity, giving it exclusive legal control over who could use Einstein’s name and image, and at what cost.

Einstein is not the only example. While we might think of people like the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., George Patton, Rosa Parks, Frank Lloyd Wright and Babe Ruth as part of our cultural heritage, available for all to use, the identities of each of them, and thousands more, are claimed as private property, usable only with permission and for a fee.

This phenomenon is fairly recent — and it’s getting out of control. For most of this country’s history, a person’s identity was not something that could be owned. . . .

Today the right of publicity clearly allows people to control the commercial use of their names and images during their lives. What happens after death is much murkier.

Throughout much of the world, the right of publicity ends at death, after which a person’s identity becomes generally available for public use. In the United States, however, this issue is governed by state laws, which have taken a remarkably varied approach. In New York, the right of publicity terminates at death; other states provide that the right of publicity survives death for limited terms. But in Tennessee (whose laws govern the use of Elvis Presley’s image, since he died there), Washington (home of a company that purports to own Jimi Hendrix’s right of publicity) and Indiana (where CMG Worldwide, which manages the identities of hundreds of dead people, is based), control over the identities of the dead has been secured for terms ranging from 100 years to, potentially, eternity.

Extending control over the identity of important people to their estates after death is, I think, to mistake how culture and art work and to elevate property rights to an importance that does us very little good. The identities of famous people as varied as Einstein, Elvis Presley, and Marilyn Monroe become part of our culture’s language. That cultural meaning then becomes part of the language of our cultural conversations, and as a part of that language it then has meaning that can be used in the sorts of compressed and symbolic ways that culture and art thrive on. To remove the identities of dead people from this language in the absence of payment for their use would substantially damage our culture. Madoff suggests congressional legislation limiting control over a person’s identity to a short term of, for example, ten years. To extend control at all past death seems to me to be problematic as a cultural and expressive matter (and Madoff raises all sorts of ways in which it is problematic as a matter of estate law). But to extend it any longer than ten years seems just plain obtuse — doing so would raise the threat that by the time an identity becomes available for use as part of the public domain it would have lost much if not all of its expressive value.

Cariou v. Prince: the damage to plaintiff is far more important than Richard Prince’s inability to articulate an artistic intent.

I discussed here nearly 2 years ago the lawsuit by photographer Patrick Cariou against Richard Prince alleging that the collages Prince had exhibited at the Gagosian Gallery in 2008 because they had appropriated photographs of Rastafarians Cariou had taken and published in his book Yes Rasta in 2001. I wrote then that the lawsuit “could have a profound impact on the art world, either clarifying that the widespread acceptance in the art world of appropriation art is legally legitimate or opening the door to an increased number of lawsuits by copyright holders against artists engaged in collage, sampling, satire, and any  number of other genres that have become increasingly easy to engage in with the digitalization of media and the rise of the internet.”

The verdict is in: the court ruled in favor of Cariou and against Prince. The decision is embedded below.

On the one hand, the decision is not as far reaching as it might have been. The court emphasized that it was declining to accept Prince’s argument that “appropriation art is per se fair use, regardless of whether or not the new artwork comments on the original works appropriated.” Slip Op. at 17-18. On the other, the court limited the scope of fair use in appropriation art to work that comments on the original works, insisting that, “to the extent that [Prince’s works] merely recast, transform, or adapt the photos, [they] are . . . infringing derivative works.” Id. at 18.

There are a several interesting aspects of the case. First, the court emphasized that Prince “testified that he has doesn’t “really have a message” he attempts to communicate when he making art,” and that “[i]n creating [his] Paintings Prince did not intend to comment on any aspects of the original works or the broader [Rastafarian] culture.”

It may be a dangerous thing to depend on the artist’s intent in judging the transformative nature of his art. As Sister Wendy Beckett explains in the Encyclopedia Britannica Online, in words that are so well accepted they are almost trite,

The passageway provided by art is very wide. No single interpretation of art is ever “right,” not even the artist’s own. He or she can tell us the intent of the work, but the actual meaning and significance of the art, what the artist achieved, is a very different matter. (It is pitiable to hear the grandiose discussions of artists’ work by the least talented of our contemporaries.) We should listen to the appreciations of others, but then we should put them aside and advance toward a work of art in the loneliness of our own truth. Each of us encounters the work alone, and how much we receive from it is wholly the effect of our will to accept this responsibility.

What was Jackson Pollock’s purpose in painting Lavender Mist? Van Gogh’s in painting The Irises? Haven’t we accepted by now the limitations focus on artistic intention would impose on our appreciation of art? Yet, in Blanch v. Koons, 467 F.3d 244, 252-53 (2d Cir. 2007) (emphasis added), the Second Circuit, in holding that Jeff Koons’ appropriation of a copyrighted photograph constituted fair use, based its conclusion that Koons’ use of the photograph was “transformative” precisely on Koons’ statements regarding what he intended:

Koons asserts — and Blanch does not deny — that his purposes in using Blanch’s image are sharply different from Blanch’s goals in creating it. Compare Koons Aff. at P4 (“I want the viewer to think about his/her personal experience with these objects, products, and images and at the same time gain new insight into how these affect our lives.”) with Blanch Dep. at 112-113 (“I wanted to show some sort of erotic sense[;] . . . to get . . . more of a sexuality to the photographs.”). The sharply different objectives that Koons had in using, and Blanch had in creating, “Silk Sandals” confirms the transformative nature of the use. See Bill Graham Archives, 448 F.3d at 609 (finding transformative use when defendant’s purpose in using copyrighted concert poster was “plainly different from the [*253] original purpose for which they were created”); see also 17 U.S.C. § 107(1) (first fair-use factor is the “purpose and character of the use” (emphasis added)).

Koons is, by his own undisputed description, using Blanch’s image as fodder for his commentary on the social and aesthetic consequences of mass media. Castle Rock Entm’t, 150 F.3d at 142 (quoting Leval, supra, 103 Harv. L. Rev, at 1111). When, as here, the copyrighted work is used as “raw material,”Castle Rock Entm’t, 150 F.3d at 142 (internal quotation marks and citation omitted), in the furtherance of distinct creative or communicative objectives, the use is transformative. Id.; see alsoBill Graham Archives, 448 F.3d at 609 (use of concert posters “as historical artifacts” in a biography was transformative); Leibovitz v. Paramount Pictures Corp., 137 F.3d 109, 113 (2d Cir. 1998) (parody of a photograph in a movie poster was transformative when “the ad [was] not merely different; it differ[ed] in a way that may reasonably be perceived as commenting” on the original). His stated objective is thus not to repackage Blanch’s “Silk Sandals,” but to employ it “‘in the creation of new information, new aesthetics, new insights and understandings.’”

The test for whether “Niagara’s” use of “Silk Sandals” is “transformative,” then, is whether it “merely supersedes the objects of the original creation, or instead adds something new, with a further purpose or different character, altering the first with new expression, meaning, or message.”Campbell, 510 U.S. at 579 (internal quotation marks and citation omitted, alteration incorporated);Davis, 246 F.3d at 174 (same). The test almost perfectly describes Koons’s adaptation of “Silk Sandals”: the use of a fashion photograph created for publication in a glossy American “lifestyles” magazine — with changes of its colors, the background against which it is portrayed, the medium, the size of the objects pictured, the objects’ details and, crucially, their entirely different purpose and meaning — as part of a massive painting commissioned for exhibition in a German art-gallery space. We therefore conclude that the use in question was transformative.

In short, courts seem to be basing the transformative nature of alleged infringements on the avowed intentions of the artists themselves. Thus, in the decision enjoining the publication of a “sequel” to The Catcher in the Rye, the judge was significantly influenced by the fact the author and his representatives had described the work in words that didn’t fit the legal standard they wanted to meet:

Until the present lawsuit was filed, Defendants made no indication that 60 Years [the new work] was in any way a parody or critique of Catcher [in the Rye]. Quite to the contrary, the original jacket of 60 Years states that it is “. . . a marvelous sequel t one of our most beloved classics.” . . . Additionally, when initially confronted with the similarities between the two works, rather than explaining that60 Years was a parody or critique of Catcher, Colting’s [the new work’s author] literary agent, Mr. Sane, contended that 60 Years “is a completely freestanding novel that has nothing to do with the original Catcher in the Rye.” Opinion and Order at 16, n. 3.

Colting, obviously, should have called his work a parody and critique, not a sequel or a “freestanding novel.” It’s odd to think that makes a difference, though. No matter what he said, his work would be the same.

In the same way, it seems odd that Prince’s refusal to articulate an artistic intent and Koons elaborate description of his own intent are the most significant determinants of the legitimacy of their respective artworks.

Of course, there are more obvious was to distinguish Prince’s case from Koons’. Koons’ use of a fashion photograph in his collage quite plainly had no impact on any reasonably foreseeable markets for that fashion photograph. In contrast, Prince’s work quite obviously did have an impact on the commercial value of Cariou’s work. Cariou had been negotiating with a Manhattan gallery owner for a show of his Yes Rasta photographs when the Gagosian Gallery began showing Prince’s works that appropriated Cariou’s photographs. As a result, the gallery owner considering a show for Cariou’s works backed off, because “she did not want to exhibit work which had been “done already” at another gallery. Slip op. at 6-7.

So we need not go so far as to conclude that Cariou’s lawsuit signals the death of appropriation art in all its various guises. Blanch v. Koons alone is proof that is not the case. But if we realize how plainly and directly Prince’s appropriations damaged Cariou’s opportunities to economically benefit from his own work, the outcome (if not all of the reasoning) of this new case is obviously correct.

Cariou v Richard Prince

Who owns Franz Kafka’s papers?

I’ve written before about my skepticism over allowing the dead to exert control over the living to a sufficient degree that we the living are deprived of cultural riches. And just last week I discussed this point with a student in connection with copyright. She expressed disappointment in Douglas Adams’ posthumously published work and wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better for him if nothing he hadn’t authorized for publication had been published. I explained that I don’t think it affects Douglas Adams, a dead man, one bit whether or not stuff he didn’t want published is published but that it might affect us a great deal. Not being the greatest fan of Adams, I brought up Franz Kafka, who legendarily told his friend Max Brod to burn his papers upon his death. Brod, of course, ignored the request. It seems to me it would’ve been an undeniable tragedy if instead Brod had obeyed his friends wishes.

My real point — and the point that drives a lot of what I write on this blog — is that we confuse things and act to our cultural detriment when we treat intellectual “property” like we treat real property. And that confusion of course extends to the ways we give dead people continued influence over their intellectual and artistic creations. So it seems serendipitous that in this coming Sunday’s New York Times Magazine Elif Bautman has an article about the ongoing legal battle in the Israeli courts over the fate of Franz Kafka’s personal papers.

Bautman asks precisely what I would:

The situation has repeatedly been called Kafkaesque, reflecting, perhaps, the strangeness of the idea that Kafka can be anyone’s private property. Isn’t that what Brod demonstrated, when he disregarded Kafka’s last testament: that Kafka’s works weren’t even Kafka’s private property but, rather, belonged to humanity?

But Eva Hoffe and Ruth Wiesler, the daughters of Max Brod’s secretary and presumed lover, are claiming that Kafka’s paper are their property and that they should be permitted to sell them. They are being opposed by the National Library of Israel, which is claiming a right to the papers under Brod’s will. Brod brought the papers along with him when he emigrated to Palestine after Kafka’s death.

It’s an interesting legal case — there are Brod’s inconsistencies, including words that indicate he meant to convey the papers to public authorities in Israel and actions that might seem to indicate otherwise; the eccentric daughters of Brod’s secretary/lover, the more important of whom in this battle seems to fit the caricature of a batty old cat lady; and, of course, the overarching presence of Kafka himself, over whose legacy this kind of legal battle seems, in retrospect, well . . . almost inevitable.

As one Israeli writer interviewed in the story explains:

If Brod could see what was happening now, . . . he would be horrified.” Kafka, on the other hand, might be O.K. with it: “The next best thing to having your stuff burned, if you’re ambivalent, is giving it to some guy who gives it to some lady who gives it to her daughters who keep it in an apartment full of cats, right?”

Is Damien Hirst a “plagiarist”? And what does that even mean?

The Guardian reports that Damien Hirst has been accused of plagiarism. More specifically:

Charles Thomson, the artist and co-founder of the Stuckists, a group campaigning for traditional artistry, collated the number of plagiarism claims relating to Hirst’s work for the latest issue of the Jackdaw art magazine.

He came up with 15 examples, with eight said to be new instances of plagiarism. The tally includes the medicine cabinets that Hirst first displayed in 1989, and its development in 1992 – a room-size installation called Pharmacy.

“Joseph Cornell displayed a cabinet with bottles on shelves called Pharmacy in 1943,” said Thomson. Nor were Hirst’s spin paintings or his installation of a ball on a jet of air original, he said, noting that both were done in the 1960s.

“Hirst puts himself forward as a great artist, but a lot of his work exists only because other artists have come up with original ideas which he has stolen,” said Thomson. “Hirst is a plagiarist in a way that would be totally unacceptable in science or literature.” (hyperlinks added.)

Here we go again. First of all, plagiarism is a loaded word that means nothing in the way that Thomson uses it except that he thinks that Hirst is a bad artist. There is no legal claim for plagiarism. There is for copyright infringement, though I can’t imagine that whoever owns the copyright to Cornell’s work would prevail on a claim against Hirst for infringement of the copyright in Pharmacy. You can’t copyright an idea.

Having not seen the works that Hirst supposedly “plagiarized,” I can’t say with any degree of confidence whether the other examples brought up in the Guardian article constitute infringment:

Aggrieved artists include John LeKay, a Briton who says he first thought of nailing a lamb’s carcass to wood like a cross in 1987, only to see it reproduced by Hirst. Lekay previously claimed in 2007 that he had been producing jewel-encrusted skulls since 1993, before Hirst did so. Lori Precious, an American, says she first arranged butterfly wings into patterns to suggest stained-glass windows in 1994, years before Hirst.

It is interesting, I think, that neither LeKay nor Precious intends to sue.“LeKay has become more interested in Buddhism than material wealth, so he does not plan to seek compensation.” (One could wish the owners of the copyrights in John Cage’s work were more attuned to the implications of Buddhism for a claim grounded in appropriation.) Precious is “[w]ithout the funds to pursue legal action.” She does note that, although the patterns in her work and Hirst’s are not identical,”[i]t’s the same material (butterfly wings) and the same idea (recreations of stained-glass windows).”

Perhaps Jackdaw ought to be more attuned to the importance of consistency. Laura Gascoigne, in a Jackdaw column entitled “Whose Art is it Anyway?“, argues that in contemporary art copying by fellow artists is a non-issue grounded in outdated notions of what originality is:

The insistence on the uniqueness of an artist’s imagery is a pathetic fallacy of the Romantic era which, like DACs, has only ever enriched already rich artists. Work by unknown artists has no rarity value. But the fallacy does, it’s true, provide artistic nobodies with the chance to rake back a quid or two from the big names.

In contemporary art, copying by fellow artists is a non-issue – the real issue is corporate theft of artistic capital. Gillian Wearing was quite right to complain that the use of her signs idea in ads for Volkswagen and Levi Jeans ìstops me doing my work because people think I’m working for an advertising agencyî, as was Andy Goldsworthy to prosecute Habitat for stealing his snowball idea to advertise chairs. Conceptual art is particularly vulnerable to this sort of abuse, as ideas in themselves cannot be copyrighted. Of course there’s an argument for saying that once an idea or an image is out in the world it belongs to everyone; but what belongs to everyone should then be protected from commercial hijack. The corruption of artistic meaning by advertisers is as repugnant as the appropriation of common language by corporations. Who gave Starbucks the right to trademark the phrase ‘Shared Planet’?

What is clear is that Jackdaw’s aim is to slag Hirst. In fact, that appears to be a central aim of the magazine, which on its homepage quotes Celia Walden from the Daily Telegraph:

[Jackdaw] is cultural samizdat, packed with earthy jokes and scandals that are ignored elsewhere in the interests of keeping folk such as the Margate Express (Tracey Emin) or Dick Flasher (Damien Hirst) sweet.

Steven Johnson, Lawrence Lessig, & Shepard Fairey at the NY Public Library on Mashup & Remix

Donald Rosenberg v. Plain Dealer & Cleveland Orchestra, continued

The Plain Dealer reports that attorneys for Donald Rosenberg completed the presentation of their evidence to the jury in Rosenberg’s lawsuit against the Plain Dealer and the Musical Arts Association, the governing body of the Cleveland Orchestra. I expressed a lot of my views on what I perceive to be the weaknesses of Rosenberg’s case a couple of weeks ago. What I have read so far has not changed my opinion.

First, it is important to note that Rosenberg is not claiming that the Plain Dealer was in breach of contract when it reassigned him to a different  beat after his many years of writing reviews of the Orchestra. His only legal claim against the newspaper is that the reassignment constituted age discrimination. As I wrote previously, that’s an odd claim, since the entire thrust of the case is that the reassignment was wrongful because it was done at the Orchestra’s behest. Reassignment under pressure of someone who doesn’t like what’s being written doesn’t sound like age discrimination to me. And he testified that he never mentioned age discrimination at the time of the reassignment. According to the Plain Dealer story, he thought it was “onerous and unusual” that the person doing the reassigning had told him he’d covered the Orchestra for a long time. I guess he’s claiming the Plain Dealer reassigned him because the beat had become too burdensome after his many years, but I cannot imagine that the physical and mental burden of covering the Orchestra formed any part of the Plain Dealer’s thinking in reassigning a 57 year old guy to a different beat.

It’s also not clear at all what legal damages Rosenberg suffered. He testified that he had not lost pay or benefits under his reassignment in 2008. He had no legal right to the position reviewing the Orchestra, and try as he might to establish that his critical reputation has suffered, he by all appearances seems to have skyrocketed in reputation in the music community, which sees him as a martyr on the altar of critical integrity.

It’s funny: the music community never seemed to be particularly concerned with Rosenberg’s critical integrity during his years covering the Orchestra under the direction of Christoph von Dohnányi despite his close friendship with von Dohnányi.

Rosenberg’s claims against the Musical Arts Association are in the nature of defamation claims. The problem is that unless he can establish that someone affiliated with the Orchestra lied about him, there doesn’t seem much there there. There’s nothing illicit about someone who’s being reviewed complaining about the review. Nor is there anything illicit in the employer of the reviewer listening to and even responding to those complaints. And it’s not as if there haven’t been complaints about Rosenberg. Rosenberg admitted on the stand that, in the Plain Dealer’s words, “others — including newspaper readers, members of the orchestra and others in the community — had complained about what was perceived as a pervasive negative tenor to his reviews of [Franz] Welser-Most [the Orchestra's conductor and von Dohnányi's succesaor] .”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not thrilled with the idea of newspapers shaping their coverage to please the subjects. I just don’t see the newspapers employees having any legal right to ensure that the newspapers don’t do so. Nor is the Plain Dealer’s alleged favoritism of its subject in this instance, even if true, one of the more glaring instances of this aspect of journalism. There’s no First Amendment requirement that the media be objective.

Now that Rosenberg’s lawyers have called all of their own witnesses, the Plain Dealer and the Musical Arts Association will have an opportunity to call their own. Then the lawyers will give closing arguments, the judge will instruct the jury in the law applicable to the evidence, and the jury will deliberate. At several steps on the way, as well, the judge could conceivably stop the trial and rule in favor of the defendants if the judge decides no reasonable jury could find that Rosenberg can recover on his legal claims.

Stay tuned.

When someone tells you they have an “objective” method of judging value, run!

One of the reasons I find disputes concerning the authenticity and provenance of works of art so fascinating is that the art market often magnifies the subjectivity and volatility that all markets are subject to. In practice 20 years ago I often deposed investment bankers at great length on their methods and judgments in valuing companies. I was always amazed at the subjectivity that went into numbers that got translated into hard dollar amounts that investors treated like objective, indisputable measures of value. Now, in a fascinating piece in the New Yorker, David Garan writes about

Canadian forensic art expert named Peter Paul Biro, who, during the past several years, has pioneered a radical new approach to authenticating pictures. He does not merely try to detect the artist’s invisible hand; he scours a painting for the artist’s fingerprints, impressed in the paint or on the canvas. Treating each painting as a crime scene, in which an artist has left behind traces of evidence, Biro has tried to render objective what has historically been subjective. In the process, he has shaken the priesthood of connoisseurship, raising questions about the nature of art, about the commodification of aesthetic beauty, and about the very legitimacy of the art world. Biro’s research seems to confirm what many people have long suspected: that the system of authenticating art works can be arbitrary and, at times, even a fraud.

Of course, as Garan writes, the desire to replace subjective judgment regarding the authenticity of artworks with some “objective” scientific method is longstanding:

The desire to transform the authentication process through science—to supplant a subjective eye with objective tools—was not new. During the late nineteenth century, the Italian art critic Giovanni Morelli, dismissing many traditional connoisseurs as “charlatans,” proposed a new “scientific” method based on “indisputable and practical facts.” Rather than search a painting for its creator’s intangible essence, he argued, connoisseurs should focus on minor details such as fingernails, toes, and earlobes, which an artist tended to render almost unconsciously. “Just as most men, both speakers and writers, make use of habitual modes of expression, favorite words or sayings, that they employ involuntarily, even inappropriately, so too every painter has his own peculiarities that escape him without his being aware,” Morelli wrote. He believed that not only did an Old Master expose his identity with these “material trifles”; forgers and imitators were also less likely to pay sufficient attention to them, and thus betray themselves. Morelli became known as the Sherlock Holmes of the art world.

To many connoisseurs, however, the nature of art was antithetical to cold science. Worse, Morelli made his own share of false attributions, prompting one art historian to dismiss him as a “quack doctor.”

But Garan’s article reveals that Biro may not be all he’s cracked up to be. Neither are objective methods of valuing business.

A lawyer must separate bluster from truth and act accordingly: Halsey Minor’s fall.

Being an effective lawyer requires an enormous amount of confidence in one’s own judgment. As I tell my students, when you’re a lawyer, there is always someone who is telling you you’re wrong. You have to figure out the extent to which the person telling you you’re wrong is right, adjust your position accordingly, and move on. Frequently, the person telling you you’re wrong is wrong himself. It’s not always easy to tell the difference between wrong and right. But the real signs of maturity are (1) being able to adjust your position to what’s right in someone else’s words, and (2) being able to reject disagreement you judge for yourself is without merit.

[One of my pet peeves with contemporary journalists is precisely there lack of nerve -- rather than making judgments and explaining them, most journalists merely "report" the words of people who disagree without judgment.]

An example of being told I was flat-out wrong occurred over a year and a half ago, when I wrote about Sotheby’s $16.8 million lawsuit against the art collector and Internet entrepreneur Halsey Minor for refusing to pay the auction house for three paintings he bought in May” (including The Peaceable Kingdom and the Leopard of Serenity by Edward Hicks). I explained that I didn’t see merit in Minor’s claims that Sotheby’s had been in the wrong in failing to disclose to Minor that it had a security interest in The Peacable Kingdom and that the painting’s owner had agreed Sotheby’s would receive the proceeds of the sale. Minor argued that he had relied on Sotheby’s expertise in connection with the painting, and that if he had known of Sotheby’s security interest in the painting he would not have been willing to pay so much. In short, he claimed, Sotheby’s had been supposed to be working on his behalf in giving him advice regarding the painting but in fact had been acting on its own behalf and to his detriment.

Minor agreed to buy the paintings in May 2008. We all know what happened subsequently — we all experienced financial disaster. As a result, the art market collapsed, and the paintings Minor had bought were worth significantly less than he had agreed to pay. Moreover, one could presume,Minor might have suffered severe financial problems in and after 2008. I suspected strongly that Minor either no longer had the money to buy the paintings or, at least, no longer saw them as worth owning at the price he had agreed to pay.

Minor, though, made plain in a comment to my post (as he had to other people who had written skeptically of his claims) that he thought I was wrong, concluding

Sotheby’s committed Fraud and will pay for it and its disappointing to see you allow them to get away with charging outrageous fees and then blaming lack on knowledge on the victim.

What do you say to someone so vehement when you think he’s full of it? You ignore him, and you let the evidence speak for itself. Which, apparently, is what Sotheby’s did. As Donn Zaretetsky of the Art Law Blog reported over 2 months ago, the federal judge who heard the case ruled on March 30 in favor of Sotheby’s on all counts, entering judgment in Sotheby’s favor for $4.4 million plus interest, late charges, and legal fees. (Decision embedded below.)

And now Zaretsky points out  too that my suspicions regarding Minor’s financial hardships are, apparently, well-founded. According to the New York Post:

Fallen Internet tycoon Halsey Minor is so hard up for cash that he can’t even afford to send Sotheby’s his art collection to make good on his $6.6 million debt to the famed auction house. Court papers filed yesterday say the CNet.com co-founder ‘has represented that he cannot pay shippers to transport his fine and decorative art as directed.

And Elizabeth Lesly Stevens of the Bay Citizen reports that Minor has defaulted on the rent for the offices of his corporate home, offices which he has abandoned:

Minor Ventures, Minor’s investment vehicle and corporate home in recent years, has recently cleared out of its 12th-floor, 17,000-square-foot space at 199 Fremont, in San Francisco’s trendy SoMa neighborhood. Minor left behind artwork, office equipment and cubicles, says Laura Binai, a staffer with the building’s management company.

“All their mail comes here, but no one comes to get it,” she said.

Minor Ventures is technically a subtenant of insurance giant Aon Corp., which is “hunting down Minor for rent,” Binai says. An Aon spokesman declined to comment, and efforts to reach Minor have been unsuccessful.

And a second part of Minor’s design collection is set to be sold on Wednesday by some of Minor’s creditors. And a court has allowed Sotheby’s “to register the $6.6 million judgment in the Western District of Virginia and the District of Delaware, where Minor has significant assets,” including “a $6.52 million mortgage for a farm near Charlottesville, Va., that he recently brought current after it was foreclosed upon.”

So what does it seem happened? Minor suffered severe financial losses in the second half of 2008 and his emphatic assertions of wrongdoing by Sotheby’s were just so much bluster.

Sothebys v. Minor Judgment

Collage is art, not theft

From Negativland:

No one much cared about the centuries old tradition of appropriation in classical music as long as it could only be heardwhen it was played live in front of your ears. But now all music exists as a mass produced, saleable object, electronically frozen for all time, and seen by its owners to be in continuous, simultaneous economic competition with all other music. The previously interesting idea that someone’s music might freely include some appropriated music of another has now been made into a criminal activity. This example is typical of how copyright laws now actually serve to inhibit or prevent the creative process, itself, from proceeding in certain interesting ways, both traditional and new.

This has become a pressing problem for creativity now because the creative technique of appropriation has jumped from the mediums in which it first appeared (principally in the visual fine arts of painting, printmaking, and sculpture) to popular, electronic mass distributed mediums such as photography, recorded music, and multimedia. The appearance of appropriation techniques in these more recent mass mediums have occasioned a huge increase in owner litigations of such appropriation based works because the commercial entrepenours who now own and operate mass culture are apparently intent on oblitering all distinctions between the needs of art and the needs of commerce.These owners of mass produced cultural material claim that similarly mass produced works of appropriation are a new and devastating threat to their total control over the exclusive profits which their properties might produce in the same mass marketplace. They claim that, art or not, an unauthorized appropriation of any kind can not be allowed to directly compete in the appropriated material’s avenue of commerce, as if they were equal in content, and equal in intent. The degree to which the unique nature and needs of art practice do not play any part in this thinking is more than slightly insane.

Consider the starkly stupid proposition that collage has now become illegal in music unless the artist can afford to pay for each and every fragment he or she might want to use, as well as gain permission from each and every owner. Consider how this puts a stop to all independent, non-corporate forms of collage in music, and how those corporately funded collage works which can afford the tolls had better be flattering to the owner intheir usage. . . .

Please consider the ungenerous and uncreative logic we are overlaying our culture with. Artists will always be interested in sampling from existing cultural icons and artifacts precisely because of how they express and symbolize something potently recognizable about the culture from which both they and this new work spring. The owners of such artifacts and icons are seldom happy to see their properties in unauthorized contexts which may be antithetical to the way they are spinning them. Their kneejerk use of copyright restrictions to crush this kind of work now amounts to corporate censorship of unwanted independent work.

Requiring licenses for artistic appropriation has nothing to with providing incentives to create.

I’ve been pretty passionate in this blog in expressing my belief that art that appropriates copyrighted work does not infringe the copyrighted work provided the new work stands sufficiently on its own as a creative work. To stand on its own in that way, the new work is one that isn’t attracting an audience merely because of its appropriation of the earlier work. The fact it uses the the copyrighted work to convey meaning through the use of symbols and allusions is no different than the way new, original art has always used the meaning culture attributes to earlier work. Art builds on art.

The counter-argument to my position is that artists need to make money to be able to create art, and if an appropriator can pay for a license, why shouldn’t he? First, merely asking for a license is not the same as obtaining one. Second, the most meaningful pieces of art in our culture are the most successful, and licenses for the use of those works are not likely to be within the financial means of most artists. Third, why should you have to ask for a license to make something new from something someone already has made money from (or as much as their work earned in the market)?

But now Malcolm Gladwell goes right to the heart of the most compelling argument copyright holders have against un-licensed appropriation — that the financial remuneration is an incentive necessary to the creation of art in the first place. Gladwell writes:

Dan Pink is best known for a number of really insightful business books, including “A Whole New Mind.” In “Drive,” he tackles the question of what motivates people to do innovative work, and his jumping-off point is the academic work done over the past few decades that consistently shows that financial rewards hinder creativity. These studies have been around for a while. But Pink follows through on their implications in a way that is provocative and fascinating. The way we structure organizations and innovation, after all, almost always assumes that the prospect of financial reward is the prime human motivator. We think that the more we pay people, the better results we’ll get. But what if that isn’t true? What the research shows, instead, is that the great wellspring of creativity is intrinsic motivation—that is, I do my best work for personal rewards (out of love or intellectual fulfillment) and not external motivation (money).

Maybe you don’t think much of this blog, but I’ve written it now for 18 months and haven’t seen a penny in return. The best writers I know scramble to make their livings through their writing, teaching, parlaying their writing into other creative projects, and whatever else can come their way. I’ve known artists my entire life. I’ve known a few who’ve had vast success, but they are a tiny, tiny minority. The artists I know won’t stop creating if they’re not paid for transformative appropriations of their works.

Article 1, Section 8 of the U.S. Constitution sets for the basis of Congressional power to create laws to protect copyright. It states:

The Congress shall have Power . . . To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries; . . . (emphasis added).

It does not state:

The Congress shall have the Power . . . To further the capacity of authors and inventors to extract any and all value that exists in their creations, by securing for a time in excess of the lifetimes of these Authors and Inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries; . . .

The Korean War Memorial Postage Stamp Photo Case: I was way wrong! But I still think I was right, and I think the case is bad for art.

Consider me dumbfounded, or just plain dumb. I thought the copyright infringement case brought by the sculptor of the Korean War War Veterans Memorial (above, left) against the U.S. Postal Service for the use of the memorial’s image in a postage stamp (above, right) was an “easy case” — that the stamp constituted fair use of the image of the memorial because, among other things, I thought the image was sufficiently “transformative” of the memorial itself to constitute a creative work in its own right.

But today, in Gaylord v. U.S. (pdf),the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit reversed the lower court’s holding and ruled that the stamp infringed the sculptor’s copyright in the memorial (pdf). Whereas I thought the image on the stamp was transformative because, among other things, I wouldn’t have even known it was an image of a sculpture rather than a stylized image of actual soldiers unless I’d read otherwise, the court held that the purpose and character of the image on the postage stamp and the purpose and character of the sculpture were identical: “to honor veterans of the Korean War.” Slip op. at 9. The court rejected the reasoning I had advanced, reasoning as follows:

Although the stamp altered the appearance of The Column by adding snow and muting the color, these alterations do not impart a different character to the work. To the extent that the stamp has a surreal character, The Column and its soldiers themselves contribute to that character. Indeed, the Penn State Team suggested that the Memorial have a “dream-like presence of ghostly figures.” Capturing The Column on a cold morning after a snowstorm—rather than on a warm sunny day—does not transform its character, meaning, or message.  Slip Op. at 11.

I am stunned, and I find the court’s limitation of of “transformative” work to work that “comments on or criticizes” the work it appropriates without real rationale, but the odds are long the case will end up before the U.S. Supreme Court. It might be a good case for the Supreme Court to weigh in on — the ease and low cost of copying and disseminating images in this day and age makes any and every sort of appropriation art a contentious and wide open field, but I suspect the Supreme Court would prefer to let these issues simmer in the lower courts for some time before it chooses to weigh in on the question. In the mean time, I have to bow in humility to Donn Zaretsky, with whom I engaged in an online debate last summer on this particular case in particular and on the issue of the photographic appropriation of public art in particular. Donn was right, and I was wrong. I suspect, though, that this isn’t the last word we’ll hear on this type of case.

Addendum: The more I think about the decision in Gaylord, the more wrong-headed I believe it is, and the more I think it falls prey to a dangerous proclivity to commercialize every last aspect of our culture, including art. To limit “transformative” uses of copyrighted materials to uses that comment upon or criticize the copyrighted works they appropriate is to eliminate the use of the kind of appropriation as source material that is the very foundation of art. Copyrighted art works become part of the cultural language. A work that has impact in a culture takes on a meaning of its own. That cultural meaning then becomes part of the language of art, and as a part of that language it then has meaning that can be used in the sorts of compressed and symbolic ways that art needs to use in order to be art. To remove copyrighted works from this language in the absence of payment for their use would substantially damage our culture. By the time a work of art becomes available for the free use of other artists as part of the public domain — the duration of the artist’s life plus 70 years — it no longer will have any resonance worth exploiting.

Moreover, it is, I think, strange that the court in Gaylord reasoned that the photograph of the sculpture was not sufficiently original in its own right to be transformative despite what I referred to above — the fact that one would not likely even spot that the photo was of the the memorial, much less a sculpture — because that character of the photo was merely the product of the fact the photo was shot on a snowy day:

To the extent that the stamp has a surreal character, The Column and its soldiers themselves contribute to that character. Indeed, the Penn State Team suggested that the Memorial have a “dream-like presence of ghostly figures.” Capturing The Column on a cold morning after a snowstorm—rather than on a warm sunny day—does not transform its character, meaning, or message. Nature’s decision to snow cannot deprive Mr. Gaylord of an otherwise valid right to exclude. Slip op. at 11.

This reasoning is strange because, as I have pointed out before, photography itself is protected by copyright as “original” — rather than being rejected as mere transmission of the “facts” it conveys — precisely to the extent it reflects the photographer’s choices regarding the framing of the image, the choice of background and lighting, and the resulting mood:

Decisions rendering the photograph a protectable “intellectual invention” included: the posing and arrangement of [the subject] “so as to present graceful outlines”; the selection and arrangement of background and accessories; the arrangement and disposition of light and shade; and the evocation of the desired expression. Courts today continue to hold that such decisions by the photographer–or, more precisely, the elements of photographs that result from these decisions–are worthy of copyright protection. See, e.g., Rogers v. Koons (”Elements of originality in a photograph may include posing the subjects, lighting, angle, selection of film and camera, evoking the desired expression, and almost any other variant involved.”) (citations omitted). Meshwerks v. Toyotoa Motor Sales, Inc. ( 10th Cir. 2008).

I am not sure how one reconciles the idea that photography constitutes original work entitled to copyright protection with the notion that the elements of the art that give it originality — the elements that are the result of the artist’s choice — are merely “nature’s decision” and therefore not an element that make a work sufficiently original to be entitled to stand on its own without paying its way. I also think that the decision is vacuous as an artistic matter.

Finally, the decision plainly has significance with respect to the claim by the Associated Press that Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster infringed Manny Garcia’s photo of then-candidate Obama. I have stated again and again that I think the Hope poster is a non-infringing fair use primarily because of the way it transforms the photo and stands on its own as a creative work. It was many, many months before anyone even identified which photo was Fairey’s source material; even Garcia himself, despite seeing the poster again and again during those months, did not recognize that the poster was derived from his own photo! But there’s no doubt in my mind that the poster does not constitute a comment or criticism of the photo. Under the Federal Circuit’s reasoning, therefore, Fairey’s poster infringes the photo’s copyright. Fortunately, however, the Federal Circuit’s decision is not binding on the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York, where AP v. Fairey is pending, so that court will be left to its own judgment as to the scope of appropriation art will be permitted in this age of digital copying and transmission.

Here’s hoping, on my part, that the court in that case comes to a different decision. Art is a language that draws on and builds from itself. To reduce the language’s components to commodities would be to commercialize one more part of our lives, monetize one of the few things we have left that have not been reduced to the equivalent of cold cash.

Second Addendum: John E. Grant has a very interesting take on the Gaylord decision – he reads the decision as one that focuses on the stamp rather than the photo the stamp consists of:

In reversing the lower court decision, a 2-1 appellate majority ruled that the trial judge was wrong to focus on the transformative aspects of the photograph. Instead, it held that it must analyze the purpose and character of the stamp. The appellate majority then found that the purpose of the stamp was the same as the purpose of the sculpture: to honor Korean War veterans.

It’s an interesting thought, but I’m not sure I entirely buy it. If the photo itself was fair use, then I do not understand why the photographer did not have the right to license the use of that photo to the government for use on the postage stamp. Further, as Grant acknowledges and as I pointed out above, the court reasoned that although the image on the stamp “altered the appearance of the sculpture, . . . the alterations [were attributable] to mother nature, not the photographer and . . .  ’nature’s decision to snow cannot deprive Mr. Gaylord of an otherwise valid right’ to his copyright.” Again, I cannot understand why the very elements that constitute the creative elements of a photograph can in this fair use analysis be passed off as merely “nature’s decisions.”

Jack Mackie, litigator-artist: artists aren’t entitled to stop uses of their work merely because they don’t like those uses.

A friend (who happens to be a relative too) points out to me that the artist whose lawsuit I wrote about yesterday — Jack Mackie, creator of the popular outdoor artwork in Seattle known as “The Dance Steps” — has previously sued over the alleged infringement of his copyright in that work. He was largely unsuccessful in the earlier lawsuit, Mackie v. Reiser, 296 F.3d 909 (9th Cir. 2002), cert. denied 537 U.S. 1189 (2003), but not for a lack of trying — he appealed his case to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 9th Circuit and even sought to have that decision reviewed by the U.S. Supreme Court.

In Reiser, Mackie sued the Seattle Symphony Orchestra for using a photo of part of The Dance Steps without his permission in a Symphony promotional campaign. Even assuming the Symphony’s use of the image constituted an infringement, the court ruled that Mackie was not legally entitled to statutory damages for copyright infringement because he had not registered his copyright in The Dance Steps; nor was he entitled to damages from the Symphony’s “direct profits.” He was awarded $1,000, based on the trial court’s determination that that is the amount he would have been paid by the Symphony for a license to use the work, but he even appealed that award as inadequate because he did not like the way the Symphony used the image of his work.

The court focused on his claim for “indirect profits” — that is, the profits the Symphony earned from its promotional material that were attributable to the allegedly infringing use of an image of Mackie’s work. But Mackie was not able to produce evidence that any of the Symphony’s profits were attributable to their use of the image of The Dance Steps. In fact, “Mackie’s damages expert had testified that it was impossible to determine how much of the Pops revenue could be traced to the infringing artwork.” Although the expert subsequently testified that he had been wrong and that he believed 1.5% of the Symphony’s profits from the campaign could be traced to its use of the image of The Dance Steps, the court held that that belief was too much based on speculation. Interestingly, at trial, Mackie himself “conceded that his putative loss of future earnings was speculative at best [and] . . . that he had previously given permission for others to use ‘The Tango’ without payment of a royalty.”

Finally, the court ruled that there were no grounds to award Mackie more than $1,000 to represent the amount the Symphony would have had to pay him for a license to use an image of The Dance Steps despite Mackie’s “personal objections to the manipulation of his artwork.” It is important to understand that copyright does not give an artist the power to stop a use of his work merely because he doesn’t like the use. And, indeed, the court concluded: “Although it is not hard to be sympathetic to his concerns,  . . . Mackie’s subjective view, which really boils down to “hurt feelings” over the nature of the infringement, has no place in this calculus.”

Photographing public art: a persistent fair use problem

I have a friend, a sculptor, who has sold several of his pieces as public art. He laughs at the idea that he could somehow recover more money than he has already received for any use the public makes of his sculptures. And he’ll soon be a lawyer. The way he figures it, he’s sold unlimited public use of the art for whatever uses the public will make of it — even money-making uses.

But his view is a generous one. Often the creators of public art will pursue anyone who uses images of their public art under the copyright laws. To my mind, it’s one more of an infinite  number of  manifestations of our collective obsession with converting everything we can into a marketable commodity. Nevertheless, the efforts of artists to restrict others from making and using images of their public art is far from frivolous. Donn Zaretsky and I had a couple of go rounds last year in connection with the use on a postage stamp of a photograph of the Korean War Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. I am still convinced that the postage stamp in that case makes fair use of the image of the memorial, but we’ll have to wait and see whether my conviction that it isn’t even a close case is vindicated.

But now from the Citizens Media Law Project comes word of a similar, and perhaps more difficult, case, from Seattle, where photographer Mike Hipple is being sued by sculptor Jack Mackie over the photo Hipple took about 10 years ago of a woman standing near the “Dance Steps on Broadway” sculpture in Seattle’s Capitol Hill. As the Citizens Media Law Project explains:

The lawsuit has outraged scores of residents who find Mackie to be out of step with the public’s interest. Mackie installed the eight sets of inlaid bronze shoe prints, mapping out well-known dances such as the waltz and rumba, in 1982 when the city rebuilt the neighborhood’s sidewalks. Despite receiving public financing for the project, Mackie retained rights to the artwork. Those rights, according to § 106 of the U.S. Copyright Act, include the exclusive right to reproduce the work or to create derivative work from it.

Finally, I agree with the following sentiments: “any scheme that involves paying to photograph seems antithetical to the public interest. The most reasonable solution is to keep public artwork completely open to the public. Until cities do this, however, commercial photographers may want to think twice about incorporating public artwork into their photographs.”

Nevertheless, I also agree with Hipple that the photo constitutes fair use of the sculptures image? Why? Because the photo stands on its own as a creative work. Hipple has taken a work embedded in a sidewalk in front of a public building and made it into a beautiful image that evokes both dance and confusion in a world full of complicated instructions seemingly sending us in a myriad of different directions. I don’t know how often I can say it: art builds on art. Culture builds on culture. And the sooner we ease up on our madness to monetize everything the sooner we’ll be sane.

“Authorship is rarely a simple question.” — Architecture this time

I’ve written before that it boggles my mind when people write seriously that legal documents that duplicate others might constitute copyright violations. Originality is not of any value in a legal document — the document’s effectiveness in accomplishing its purpose is all that matters. Moreover, as I’ve also mentioned, legal writing is a quintessentially collaborative enterprise. Of course, law is not unique in this regard. In the course of finishing up a paper on the nature of a judge as an “author,” I came across a story from the New York Times written in 2005 about why accusations of plagiarism by architects rarely make it to court. Guess what? Architecture too is largely a collaborative enterprise. As the story states:

One reason accusations of plagiarism [between architects] rarely make it to court is that architecture, despite the romantic image of the solitary genius, is largely a collaborative pursuit. Principal, project architect, project designer and outside consultants of all stripes contribute to a design. All the while, young architects move from firm to firm, spreading ideas and sometimes eventually opening their own, competing offices. As for student architects, well, just because they don’t get paid for their work doesn’t mean it never enters the commercial arena. There’s so much rich activity going on at the schools,” said Bill Sharples of the Manhattan firm SHoP/Sharples Holden Pasquarelli, ‘it’s hard not to be influenced by it.’ With so many influences and so many echoes, authorship is rarely a simple question.”

Protecting an artist’s legacy: maximize the income from his works, or seek to embody his art? Moral rights and the successors to John Cage.

One of the more remarkable “copyright” fights has, literally, been over silence. The copyright issues are interesting, but I’m particularly interested in the insights provided by Lewis Hyde that I recently came across and the way they bear on a lawyer’s duty to pay as much or more attention to a client’s heart and soul as it is to pay attention to a client’s legal rights and remedies.

The new information comes from the Official Blog of the John Cage Trust, a wonderful new addition to the blogosphere brought by the “not-for-profit organization founded shortly after Cage’s death to support and nurture his legacy.” As American Masters explains, Cage was not merely one of the 20th Century’s most important composers; his work and thought extends to every creative field:

His sense that music was everywhere and could be made from anything brought a dynamic optimism to everything he did. While recognized as one of the most important composers of the century, John Cage’s true legacy extends far beyond the world of contemporary classical music. After him, no one could look at a painting, a book, or a person without wondering how they might sound if you listened closely.

Cage was particularly interested in investigating composition through chance procedures. Thus, it is not surprising that the homepage of JohnCage.org points right now to “Eddie Kohler’s beautiful application devoted to John Cage’s Indeterminacy: New Aspect of Form in Instrumental and Electronic Music.” According to Stereophile (quoted on Amazon.com), Cage composed Indeterminacy by reading “90 stories, his speed determined by the story’s length. In another room, beyond earshot of Cage, David Tudor, pianist and veteran Cage collaborator, performed miscellaneous selections from Cage’s Concert for Piano and Orchestra and played pre-recorded tape from Cage’s Fontana Mix. The resulting collaboration is an astounding piece of ‘music,’ and a fine introduction to the innovations of John Cage. ‘A wonderfully curious way to hear stories.’”

Perhaps Cage’s most well-known work is 4’33″. Solonmusic.net describes the piece’s first performance and the audience’s reaction (footnotes omitted):

The first performance of John Cage’s 4’33″ created a scandal. Written in 1952, it is Cage’s most notorious composition, his so-called “silent piece”. The piece consists of four minutes and thirty-three seconds in which the performer plays nothing. At the premiere some listeners were unaware that they had heard anything at all. It was first performed by the young pianist David Tudor at Woodstock, New York, on August 29, 1952, for an audience supporting the Benefit Artists Welfare Fund — an audience that supported contemporary art.

Tudor placed the hand-written score, which was in conventional notation with blank measures, on the piano and sat motionless as he used a stopwatch to measure the time of each movement. The score indicated three silent movements, each of a different length, but when added together totalled four minutes and thirty-three seconds. Tudor signaled its commencement by lowering the keyboard lid of the piano. The sound of the wind in the trees entered the first movement. After thirty seconds of no action, he raised the lid to signal the end of the first movement. It was then lowered for the second movement, during which raindrops pattered on the roof. The score was in several pages, so he turned the pages as time passed, yet playing nothing at all. The keyboard lid was raised and lowered again for the final movement, during which the audience whispered and muttered.

Cage said, “People began whispering to one another, and some people began to walk out. They didn’t laugh — they were just irritated when they realized nothing was going to happen, and they haven’t fogotten it 30 years later: they’re still angry.” Maverick Concert Hall, the site of the first performance, was ideal in allowing the sounds of the environment to enter, because the back of the hall was open to the surrounding forest. When Tudor finished, raising the keyboard lid and himself from the piano, the audience burst into an uproar — “infuriated and dismayed,” according to the reports. Even in the midst of an avant garde concert attended by modern artists, 4’33″ was considered “going too far.”

Laura Kuhn, the Cage Trust’s Executive Director, graciously points readers to a excerpts from a conversation between Nicholas Riddle, general manager of Peters Edition, which owns the copyrights in Cage’s works, and Hyde, the author of an eagerly awaited forthcoming book on the “cultural commons.”  The part of the exchange between Riddle and Hyde Ms. Kuhn has posted concerns the work that became the focus of one of the more notorious copyright lawsuits of all-time, brought by Peters Edition against Mike Batts, a British composer. In the course of producing the album Classical Graffiti for the The Planets, Batts inserted a one minute silence between two sections of the album that were in radically different styles. According to Riddle, Batts said, “”I thought for my own amusement it would be funny to call it something, so I called it A Minute’s Silence and credited it as track 13, and put my name as Batt/Cage, as a tongue-in-cheek dig at the John Cage piece.’”

Subsequently, Batts’ “record company forwarded the [album] to MCPS, which was handling the mechanical royalties for these CDs. They then identified Cage’s 4’33” as the work in question and started to pay out pro rata royalties to [Peters Edition] as Cage’s publisher.” After Batts’ “homage” became the subject of newspaper reports, Peters Edition “agreed to a run-off between the Batt piece (performed by The Planets) and the Cage piece, performed at the clarinet by our London firm’s Head of New Music, Marc Dooley.”

As Riddle notes, the press described the subsequent lawsuit brought against Batts by Peters Edition as a claim that “Batts stole his silence from Cage.” I can’t say that I didn’t have precisely that impression. Riddle explains the lawsuit to Hyde differently — since Batts attributed the 1 minute of silence to Cage, he was either earning royalties for Cage’s work or identifying something as Cage’s work that wasn’t. Either way, he’d owe Peters Edition money:

The claim was nothing to do with stealing silence from Cage. The issue was entirely that Batt identified this silence as having Cage authorship, leading to a presumption that he was quoting in some sense from 4’33”, and was so successful in doing so that the collecting society started to pay out mechanical royalties for it. There were really only two options here: either, the track really was intended as a quotation from 4’33” or some other unidentified Cage work, in which case mechanical royalties were due; or, he was misappropriating Cage’s name in the context of a musical work, and that also would not do. He, after all, was the one who claimed it was Cage in the first place. Was he passing off something else as being by Cage, or was the work actually Cage? Since performances of 4’33” could be said in some sense to be self-identified as such, it was really his call.

As Hyde recognizes in his response to Riddle, the claim that identification of the minute of silence as a work by Cage was a “misappropriation” of Cage’s name to give value to a work it would not have had without that attribution is founded in the concept of “moral rights,” which are (except in very narrow circumstances not applicable to the lawsuit against Batts) not recognized in U.S. copyright law. As Hyde very concisely describes an artist’s moral rights, “such rights include the right of attribution, the right to prevent false attribution, and the right of integrity.”

I can understand why if one were talking about a conventional musical composition Riddle is right — Batts would owe money either because he had earned royalties from the sale, without permission, of a work that Cage had composed or, under the doctrine of moral rights, he had made money from a work that presumably sold in part because it had been falsely attributed to Cage.  Nonetheless, I cannot get my head around the idea that 1 minute of silence is a quotation of 4 minutes and 33 seconds of silence or that the attribution wasn’t a perfectly legitimate parody of Cage’s work rather than an effort to extract money from listeners who would mistakenly think they were listening to Cage’s silence, not Batts’. Even in a realm of moral rights there must be room for parody.

Nonetheless, to the shock of many, Batts settled the lawsuit and paid an undisclosed sum of money to the John Cage Trust. Riddle admits he is not at liberty to discuss the details of the settlement and writes that he and Batts did not discuss the reasons Batts agreed to the financial settlement, but he suggest that his own belief is that Batts as an artist recognized a need to acknowledge the legitimacy of the publisher’s claims:

[M]y personal take on this is that it is important to remember that Mike Batt is also a composer and that a significant part of his income is from royalties earned on his existing works. The same applies to CDs of his music or the music of the bands he creates and promotes. He is heavily invested himself in the concept of intellectual property and its value. And rightly so, in my view.

Hyde doesn’t dispute the merits of Riddle’s explanation of the legal bases of the lawsuit, but he does raise (in a remarkably gentle and respectful way) another entirely different doubt he has about the wisdom of the lawsuit. Hyde points to Cage’s Buddhist beliefs and convictions that his art was not a projection of his personality. In fact, moral rights are grounded in the idea that an artist’s creations are in some way embodiments and extensions of the artist: one violates an artist’s moral rights if one violates a work’s “integrity” by, for example, defacing it, because defacement of the work is in some sense a defacement of the artist. To attribute to an artist a work that isn’t by the artist is, in turn, to violate the artist’s identity by identifying the artist with something that is not the artist; an artist’s genuine work, in contrast, is the artist.

But Cage did not believe his compositions embodied or otherwise constituted extensions into the world of his identity. As Hyde writes, Cage was not interested in chance as a means of revealing the personality. He even wrote, “Personality is a flimsy thing on which to build an art.” Instead,

Cage was after [Jacques] Monod’s ‘absolute newness’ of pure chance. He was not out to discover any hidden self, nor did he think chance operations would reveal any hidden, already-existing divine reality, as ancient diviners thought. ‘Composition is like writing a letter to a stranger,’ he once said. ‘I don’t hear things in my head, nor do I have inspiration ….’”

If Hyde is right, then pursuing a claim that Cage’s moral rights had been infringed by Batts would be to assert a claim Cage himself did not believe in. If Cage had understood that, would he have refused to assert the claim? I think there’s a good chance of that. Would you sue someone for doing something you thought was a perfectly legitimate thing to do even if someone told you that if you sued them you’d get money? It’s important to understand that a lawyer represents the client, not the client’s abstract legal rights. But when someone’s rights pass to another (whether by contract, by trust instrument, by will, or otherwise), the new owner of the rights may have his own idea of what is important to protect.

How much is that successor bound by the original right’s holder’s understanding and intentions? That is a very, very interesting and difficult question. Hyde is suggesting, I think, that Riddle and Peters Edition were really watching out for the concerns of Peters Edition and not for the concerns of John Cage as an artist, that Riddle might have done far more to preserve Cage’s legacy than he did by extracting some money from Batts for the John Cage Trust.

Cleveland Museum of Art allowed to use 50% of income from trusts for expansion; 1st time in Ohio since 1955.

A follow up to my posts (here and here) regarding the power of museums to deviate from the terms of a donor’s limitations on the use of money donated:

Last week, the Cleveland Museum of Art won permission from a Cuyahoga County Probate Court judge to use 49.99% of the income (not the principal) from 4 trusts over a period of 10 years (up to an amount not to exceed $75 million) to finance the museum’s ongoing renovation and expansion. The 4 trusts were established in 1920, 1935, 1938, and 1952. It is the first time since 1955 that the museum has sought such relief from the terms of a donor’s trust, which is also the last time such relief has been sought by any museum in Ohio.

These facts plainly do not justify the fears the museum’s critics hold up as the consequence of such rulings.

ADDENDUM: The Art Law Blog was right on top of this, and also has written, commented upon, and linked to articles about the background.