Imitation, when understood as repetition or derivation, often diminishes art's value by revealing its underlying formula and exhausting its novelty. The true elevation of art lies not in mere replication, but in a critical engagement that recontextualizes, subverts, or expands upon existing forms. We must distinguish between the skillful pastiche that merely echoes and the transformative appropriation that generates something genuinely new. The danger of imitation, particularly in a market saturated with easily digestible styles, is that it risks reducing art to a reproducible commodity, stripping away its critical edge and unique historical situatedness.
The question of imitation's effect on artistic value hinges on how we conceive of "value" itself. If value resides solely in radical originality, an elusive and often mythical state, then imitation, by definition, would diminish it. However, I contend that value is not inherent but rather constructed through the very processes of inscription, circulation, and interpretation. Imitation, in its myriad forms – from faithful apprenticeship to critical remixing – is not simply about replication but about participation in a cultural and material history. It reveals the systems of knowledge production and the affordances of specific formal languages that undergird artistic practice.
Claire Bishop touches upon the distinction between mere echo and transformative appropriation, and I agree that this is crucial. Yet, we must also consider the economic and epistemological structures that enable certain forms of imitation while discrediting others. The "skillful pastiche" can, ironically, elevate value by demonstrating mastery within a known system, thereby reinforcing its authority or highlighting its limitations. The danger is not simply exhaustion of novelty, but the commodification that Bishop rightly identifies, where the *form* is divorced from its generative context and becomes a marketable skin.
The "materiality of inscription" is paramount here. A direct copy versus a translation across media, or a reframing through a new technological apparatus – these are not equivalent acts. Each carries its own history of production and implicates different networks of dissemination and reception. What appears as "diminishment" might, in fact, be a re-articulation that extends the life and conceptual reach of the original, embedding it within new epistemological frameworks. To speak of value without attending to these material and systemic conditions is to engage in a form of critical abstraction that elides the very mechanisms of art’s cultural work.
I like imitation. It’s very, very good. It makes things famous.
Claire Bishop talks about revealing formulas, exhausting novelty. But novelty is what everyone wants, until they don't. Then they want the formula. It's like Coca-Cola. Everyone knows it, everyone buys it. It's not new, but it's always there.
Johanna Drucker says value is constructed, through inscription and circulation. Exactly. My soup cans, my Marilyns. They were already there, in the supermarket, on the movie posters. I just printed them. Over and over. That’s how things become *really* valuable, when everyone can see them, everyone can have them. It’s not about being original, it’s about being everywhere. Reproduction is the point. It’s how things get their own reward.
The question of imitation seems to presuppose an original, a unique artifact hovering in some pristine ether. But what if the "original" is already a form of imitation, a response to what preceded it, a signpost pointing to an existing desire or convention? Value, in this sense, is not something diminished by repetition, but rather confirmed, amplified, or perhaps even invented through its very dissemination.
Claire Bishop speaks of revealing formulas, of exhausting novelty. But is novelty the sole currency of worth? A perfectly executed imitation of a fine clockwork mechanism doesn't diminish the skill of the craftsman; it testifies to it, even as it functions. The "skillful pastiche" she mentions can indeed elevate value by demonstrating a profound understanding, a mastery of the very system it echoes, thereby highlighting the system's internal logic or its inherent limitations.
Johanna Drucker’s observation on the "materiality of inscription" resonates. A thousand soup cans, each slightly varied through the printing process, are not simply copies of a single soup can. They become a statement on production, on consumption, on the very notion of the unique object in a mass-produced world. The value shifts from the singular artifact to the conceptual act, to the circulation of the image itself. It is the *idea* of the soup can, re-presented, that accrues meaning, not the ghost of an initial brushstroke.
To imitate is to participate, to acknowledge a lineage, to engage in a dialogue. The danger lies not in the act of imitation itself, but in the critical laziness that fails to see the conceptual shift. If the imitator, through their choice, their context, their very act of repetition, forces a re-evaluation of what was imitated, then value is not diminished; it is, perhaps, reborn in a new form. It is a question of choice, is it not? The choice of what to repeat, and how.
The assertion that imitation can "elevate value" by demonstrating mastery or amplifying an idea, as suggested by Duchamp and Drucker, is seductive but risks overlooking a crucial distinction: the difference between *engagement* and *enclosure*. When Warhol declares, "I like imitation. It’s very, very good. It makes things famous," he reveals a strategy of appropriation that often functions to *domesticate* rather than challenge. His soup cans, while undeniably impactful, ultimately reinforce the very iconography of mass consumption, rendering the original equally commodified. This isn't a critical re-evaluation; it’s an embrace of existing value systems, a form of aesthetic capitulation that diminishes the potential for art to operate outside of market logic.
Claire Bishop raises a critical point about "domesticating" versus "challenging" through imitation. I agree that the distinction is vital, but I would frame it not as a binary of capitulation versus resistance, but rather as a spectrum of epistemological work. Warhol's soup cans, to use a concrete example, do not simply embrace market logic; they *expose* it. The repetition itself, the flattening of the distinct object into a graphic signifier, forces a re-reading of how value is assigned in a consumer society. This is not about diminishing the original, but about making its constructedness visible through its very proliferation. The danger Bishop identifies, the commodification that divorces form from context, is a consequence of uncritical reception, not an inherent flaw in the act of imitation itself when understood as a mode of critical analysis.
Claire Bishop thinks my soup cans make things capitulate. But capitulating is how things become famous. It’s like a star. You see them everywhere, you want to be them, you buy their things. That’s value. It’s not about being difficult, it’s about being understood. When you print Marilyn again and again, it’s not less Marilyn, it’s *more* Marilyn. It’s like a promise.
The notion of "domesticating" an image, as Claire Bishop suggests, implies a single, stable original that can be tamed. But what if the "original" itself is a fragile construct, a transient agreement? Warhol’s proliferation of Marilyn is not about capitulating to fame; it’s about dissolving the singular myth into a shared, accessible sign. The value doesn't diminish; it transforms from the preciousness of the unique portrait to the potent ubiquity of a cultural icon. This isn't enclosure, but an expansion of meaning through its sheer prevalence, making the image available for a thousand new interpretations, each a slight variation on the theme, like a thousand different keys unlocking the same door.