Art Entrepreneurship

Art Entrepreneurship
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Art Entrepreneurship
Edited by
Mikael Scherdin
Assistant Professor, Uppsala University, Sweden
Ivo Zander
Anders Wall Professor of Entrepreneurship, Uppsala
University, Sweden
Edward Elgar
Cheltenham, UK • Northampton, MA, USA
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© Mikael Scherdin and Ivo Zander 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical or photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior
permission of the publisher.
Published by
Edward Elgar Publishing Limited
The Lypiatts
15 Lansdown Road
Cheltenham
Glos GL50 2JA
UK
Edward Elgar Publishing, Inc.

William Pratt House
9 Dewey Court
Northampton
Massachusetts 01060
USA
A catalogue record for this book

is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010930115
ISBN 978 1 84844 369 3
Typeset by Servis Filmsetting Ltd, Stockport, Cheshire

Printed and bound by MPG Books Group, UK
03
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Contents
List of figures vi
List of contributors vii
Preface xii
Acknowledgements xiii
1 Art entrepreneurship: an introduction 1

Mikael Scherdin and Ivo Zander
2 Artist entrepreneurs 10
Katja Lindqvist
3 The new and the challenge of the market or the
non-instrumental function of creation 23
Maria Bonnafous-Boucher, Raphael Cuir and Marc Partouche
4 Opportunity revelation: cogitative powers of the brain 50
Mikael Scherdin
5 Inviting the unexpected: entrepreneurship and the arts 78
Stefan Meisiek and Stefan Haefliger
6 Innovation processes: experience drawn from the creation of
Dalhalla 98
Per Frankelius
7 Distant relations: art practice in a global culture 142
Morten Søndergaard
8 Art and entrepreneurship, apart and together 154
Daved Barry
9 Emerging themes and new research openings 169
Index 187
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Figures
3.1 The new in creation 25
3.2 Marcel Duchamp (1887–1968). “The Bottle Rack” (or “Bottle
Dryer” or “Hedgehog”) 1914, galvanized iron, 64 3 42 cm in
diameter 27
3.3 Constantin Brancusi (1876–1957). “Bird in Space”, 1923,
polished bronze, 137 3 22 3 16 cm 28
3.4 Bertrand Lavier (born in 1949). “Brandt sur Haffner”, Brandt
refrigerator on top of a Haffner safe, 251 3 70 3 65 cm (1984) 30
3.5 Typology of the relationship between artists and firms 37
3.6 Jobs salary table for Jeff Koons Productions Inc. 38
3.7 Yann Toma, Indian Ouest-Lumière Agency Advertising
Campaign. Twenty painted billboards displayed for a three
year period in Neemrana, Rajasthan, 2006 41
3.8 Bernard Brunon, University of Rennes 2, Library, south
façade, May 2008 42
3.9 Julien Prévieux, Letters of non-motivation, 2004 43
4.1 Sudret, Gotland, Sweden 62
4.2 Gattières, Nice, France 64
4.3 Åsele, Sweden 66
4.4 Skålan, Jämtland, Sweden 69
6.1 The conceptual frame of reference 99
6.2 The location of Dalhalla 101
8.1 art and Art 159
8.2 Minding the (a)Art and employing an (a)Artmind 161
vi
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Contributors
Daved Barry
Daved Barry is Visiting Professor at Nova SBE (Faculdade de Economia,
Universidade Nova de Lisboa) and Professor of Creative Organization
Studies in the Department of Management, Politics and Philosophy at
the Copenhagen Business School. Earlier he studied music, painting,
chemistry, and cooking, eventually going on to complete a BA (Hons)
in Psychology and a PhD in Strategic Management and Organizational
Psychology at the University of Maryland. In 1986 he moved to Syracuse
University, NY, where he taught strategic management, and then to
New Zealand where he held the Victoria University Chair in Creative
Organization Studies. In 2003 he joined Learning Lab Denmark and
the Copenhagen Business School as a research professor of innovation,
art, and business. His work appears in a number of journals, includ-
ing the Academy of Management Review, Business & Society, Human
Relations, Journal of Organizational Change Management, Organizational
Behavior and Human Decision Processes, Organizational Dynamics,
Organization Science, and Organization Studies. Some of his accomplish-
ments include the co-founding of AACORN (Arts, Aesthetics, Creativity,
and Organization Research Network; www.aacorn.net), a global asso-
ciation of arts and business researchers, and LAICS (www.laics.net), a
European graduate program in innovation and leadership. In 2007 he was
awarded the Imagination Lab Foundation/EURAM (European Academy
of Management) Career Achievement Award for Innovative Scholarship,
and in 2008 published The Sage Handbook of New Approaches to
Management and Organization with Hans Hansen.
Maria Bonnafous-Boucher
PhD in strategy and organizational studies, MA in philosophy, Maria
Bonnafous-Boucher is Professor in strategy and organizational studies and
currently Dean of Research at Advancia-Negocia (since 2005). She is co-
director of the Chair of Research in Entrepreneurship HEC, ESCP Europe,
ADVANCIA, and ESIEE Management. She was Associate Professor in
Epistemology and Organizational Studies at the Conservatoire National
des Arts et Métiers in Paris from 2002 to 2007 and a member of Collège
International de Philosophie from 1995 to 2002. In 2008, she co-created
vii
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viii Art entrepreneurship
the Chair of Research in creation and creativity at Advancia-Negocia. Her

research interests concern mainly normative and non-normative theories
of action as creative action. In entrepreneurship, she applies stakeholder
theory within the governance of clusters. She has been guest editor with
Michaël Laviolette, “Catalyzing International Entrepreneurship” (Special
Issue of the International Journal of Entrepreneurship and Innovation,
10(3)). In strategy, she works in the fields of institutional theory, stake-
holder theory, corporate governance and corporate social responsibility,
on which she edited two books, Stakeholder Theory (Palgrave, 2005) and
Décider avec les parties prenantes/Making Decisions with Stakeholders (La
Découverte, 2006). She has published numerous articles, including “Some
Philosophical Issues in Corporate Governance: The Role of Property in
Stakeholder Theory” (Corporate Governance Journal, 2004).
Raphael Cuir
PhD in art history, Raphael Cuir conducts research on the representation
of the body focusing on anatomy and art from the Renaissance to the
present. He was a Postdoctoral Fellow at the Getty Research Institute in
the years 2005–2006. He is a collaborator of Art Press magazine and the
author of numerous articles and essays. He has taught at Otis College of
Art and Design, Los Angeles (2007), and frequently lectures at universi-
ties worldwide. In 1999, he created the first art history TV channel on
the Internet, featuring interviews with some of the most prominent art
historians, curators, artists, philosophers, and writers. He is the author
of The Development of the Study of Anatomy from the Renaissance
to Cartesianism: da Carpi, Vesalius, Estienne, Bidloo (Edwin Mellen
Press, 2009) and recently edited Pourquoi y a-t-il de l’art plutôt que rien?
(Archibooks, 2009). He is currently scientific coordinator of the Chair of
Research in creation and creativity at Advancia-Negocia.
Per Frankelius
Per Frankelius, PhD, is Associate Professor at the Swedish Business School,
Örebro University. He is a Fellow of the Linnean Society of London, a
member of the Royal Economic Society, and has been a member of the
board of the Swedish Entrepreneurship Forum. His doctoral research con-
cerned the progress of the first project to use DNA technology to develop
a pharmaceutical product (growth hormone). His current research focuses
on innovation. He was Principal Secretary in the inquiry on innova-
tion appointed by the Swedish Government (SOU Innovative Processes
2002–03). He was head of the project (2003–05) which led to the creation
of the Swedish Business School at Örebro University. He was also instru-
mental in the development of a new type of master course in Sweden called
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Contributors ix
Creative Business Management. In 2006, he was elected a member of the

Swedish Broadcasting Commission. He has been involved in the designing
of several regional strategies, and in 2010 he was part-time employed by
Örebro Regional Council. His research on innovation has been presented
in countries such as the United States, Russia, Hungary, Iceland, Finland,
and the United Kingdom. He is the author of some 350 publications,
including the article “Questioning two myths in innovation literature” in
the Journal of High Technology Management Research.
Stefan Haefliger
Stefan Haefliger works as a researcher and lecturer at the Department of
Management, Technology, and Economics at ETH Zurich. He holds a
master degree in economics and finance and a doctorate in business admin-
istration from the University of St. Gallen, Switzerland. His research and
teaching focus on co-creation strategies and knowledge reuse in innova-
tion processes. Stefan’s research has appeared in Management Science,
Harvard Business Review, and Information Research. Stefan is an Associate
Editor of Long Range Planning. Since 2003, he has acted as a member of
management and president of the board of etoy.CORPORATION, an art
firm headquartered in Zug, Switzerland. Founded in 1994, etoy is known
for its pioneering role in Internet art, controversial operations like the
digital hijack and the domain name battle TOYWAR with eToys.com.
Currently, the art group invests all resources into MISSION ETERNITY.
Katja Lindqvist
Katja Lindqvist (PhD) is Associate Senior Lecturer at the Department
of Service Management at Lund University, and specializes in the areas
of artistic enterprising and management in the cultural sector. She is also
a founding member of the steering board of the Curating Art Master’s
course at the Department of Art History at Stockholm University, where
she lectures on art management.
Stefan Meisiek
Stefan Meisiek is Assistant Professor of Entrepreneurship and
Organizational Design at the School of Economics and Management,
Universidade Nova de Lisboa. He received his PhD in Management
from the Stockholm School of Economics, and his MA from the Free
University, Berlin. Further, he has been a visiting scholar at NYU Stern,
ESADE, Stanford University, Learning Lab Denmark, and MIT. His
research interests concern mainly ideation, entrepreneurial reasoning,
design thinking and arts-based approaches to organizational change.
In 2007 he was awarded the Imagination Lab Foundation/EURAM
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x Art entrepreneurship
(European Academy of Management) Award for Innovative Scholarship.

At his university, Stefan has taught in a technology commercialization
program that attracted 25 million euros in venture investment. He is also
a jury member for the National Award for the Creative Industries, and a
project evaluator for the Nova Idea business plan competition.
Marc Partouche
PhD in art history and aesthetics, currently Dean of the Royal Academy
of Fine Arts in Brussels, he has been Dean of The National Graduate
School of Fine Arts in Paris-Cergy and previously Dean of The Graduate
School of Fine Arts in Avignon. While pursuing a career as high-ranking
civil servant at the Ministry of Culture (General Chief Inspector in
Research, Technological Creation and Media), he is also involved in
various activities in the service of contemporary creation – organizing
exhibitions, creating and distributing reviews and magazines, and cre-
ating book publishing collections. He has written a large number of
articles, texts for art catalogues, and books, including La lignée oubliée.
Bohèmes, avant-gardes et art contemporain, de 1860 à nos jours (al dante,
2004), Marcel Duchamp, une vie d’artiste (Images en Manœuvres, 1991),
Mauvais Œil et peinture abstraite (Sgraffite, 1983). In 2008, he co-created
the Chair of Research in creation and creativity with the Cité du Design
and Advancia-Negocia.
Mikael Scherdin
In his doctoral thesis, Assistant Professor Mikael Scherdin used the
autoethnographic method to describe the growth and ultimate fate of the
art initiative nonTVTVstation. He is now working on a research project
that combines academic research with a live art project, trying to develop
new methods for “practitioners” working with creative processes in the
fields of, for example, art and entrepreneurship. The main theoretical
focus is on artistic and entrepreneurial processes in the context of cogita-
tive powers of the brain. Other ongoing work includes papers on the core
assumptions of the domain of entrepreneurship research, the ecology
of new art initiatives, and opportunity recognition. Before completing
his PhD at the Department of Business Studies, Mikael worked as (and
still is) an artist for some ten years. He has produced several art pieces
that combine sound and vision in perfectly synchronic, real-time-based
objects. Most of the art pieces have been shown in international avant-
garde art spaces, among them Eyebeam of New York City, LaVillette
Numerique, Paris, and Society for Art and Technology in Canada but
also at prestigious spaces such as the Museum for Contemporary Art in
Finland (Kiasma), the Swedish Museum of Modern Art (Moderna), the
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Contributors xi
Danish Museum of Contemporary Art (Museet for Samtidskunst), and

the Nordic Pavilion at the World Expo Japan.
Morten Søndergaard
Born 1966, MA and PhD. Associate Professor and Media Art Curator
at C.I.T – Copenhagen Institute of Technology/Aalborg University –
research, practice and teaching within Art & Technology, Interaction
Design (conceptual) and Media Art Histories. Member of the Curator
Board for PORT 20:10 (www.port2010.dk), member of the research
group “Augmented Reality and Contemporary Art” at McGill University,
Canada, Chairman of the advisory committee, Kulturnet Danmark,
Copenhagen, and member of the advisory board for Communication
Issues in Museums, Kulturarvsstyrelsen, Denmark. Media Art Curator
at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Roskilde, Denmark 1999–2008.
Latest publication in English: RE_ACTION – The Digital Archive
Experience (with Mogens Jacobsen, Aalborg University Publishers, 2009);
MAGNET – Thorbjørn Lausten’s Visual Systems (with Peter Weibel,
Kehrer, 2007); Get Real – Art + Real time (George Braziller Publishers,
2005). PhD dissertation (2007, in Danish): Space Punctures – Show-Bix
and the Media Conscious Practice of Per Højholt 1967.
Ivo Zander
Ivo Zander is the Anders Wall Professor of Entrepreneurship at the
Department of Business Studies, Uppsala University. He received his
PhD from the Institute of International Business, Stockholm School of
Economics, and has been a visiting scholar at the Harvard Business School,
SCANCOR at Stanford University, and Macquarie Graduate School of
Management. Before moving into the field of entrepreneurship, he con-
ducted research on regional agglomerations and the internationalization
of research and development in multinational corporations. His work has
appeared in journals such as Journal of International Business Studies,
Journal of International Management, Journal of Management Studies,
Industrial and Corporate Change, and Research Policy. Current research
interests include corporate entrepreneurship, the entrepreneurial dynam-
ics of accelerated internationalization, the evolution of advanced foreign
subsidiaries of the multinational corporation, and art entrepreneurship.
He has served as an expert evaluator for the Swedish Research Council,
the Knowledge Foundation, and the European Science Foundation. He is
a member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Engineering Sciences and of
the prize committee for the Akzo Nobel Science Award Sweden.
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Preface
The first steps towards the realization of this book were taken in 2006,
when we decided to set up a workshop in Stockholm around the themes
of entrepreneurship and renewal on the art arena. By drawing together
a small group of researchers, practicing artists, and representatives of
various government agencies, the ambition was to identify new research
openings as well as policies for the promotion of new art initiatives. Our
intuition at that time was that research had made use to an insufficient
extent of the connections between art and entrepreneurship, and that the
art arena, at least in the Swedish context, had been running out of steam
and seen too few novel and path-breaking art initiatives.
The workshop revealed that much of the initial intuition was correct,
and on closing day the intention was formed to turn some of the workshop
discussions and findings into a book project. A follow-up workshop was
staged at Uppsala University in 2007. That second workshop identified
a number of distinct book contributions and refined some of the central
underlying themes and ideas. The list of contributors was expanded, and
the final results of the entire project can now be presented in this volume.
We see the final product as an outcome of fundamental research at its
best, starting with an intuition and drawing upon the curiosity and per-
sonal interests of the project members to arrive at the final product. As
suggested by the individual chapters and the closing summary, the inter-
section of art and entrepreneurship offers many openings for continued
studies – we hope to have captured some of the central issues and that the
book will inspire both further research and practical endeavors.

Uppsala, 1 January 2011
xii
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Acknowledgements
We would not have been able to produce this book without the help
of several open-minded and progressive individuals and organizations.
Financial support was received from the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary
Foundation, the Knowledge Foundation, the Foundation for the Culture
of the Future, the Swedish Research Council, the Department of Business
Studies, Uppsala University, and Anders Wall’s Foundations. We are
particularly pleased to acknowledge this as the first edited and art-
related volume from the research group around the Anders Wall Chair
of Entrepreneurship at the Department of Business Studies, Uppsala
University. Finally, of course, we would like to thank the individual con-
tributors to this volume. It has been a pleasure working together on the
project, and we have certainly emerged more knowledgeable about the
fascinating world of art entrepreneurship.
The publishers wish to thank the following who have kindly given per-
mission for the use of copyright material.
ADAGP for the illustration of Marcel Duchamp’s “The Bottle Rack”

(Chapter 3).
CNAC/MNAM/RMN for illustrations of Constantin Brancusi’s “Bird in
Space” and Bertrand Lavier’s “Brandt sur Haffner” (Chapter 3).
Yann Toma for permission to use Indian Ouest-Lumière Agency Advertising
Campaign, 2006.
Bernard Brunon, for permission to use the photograph University of
Rennes 2, Library, South façade, May 2008.
Julien Prévieux, for granting permission to use Letters of Non-Motivation,
2004.
Leif Forslund and Martin Litens for photographs of Dalhalla (Chapter 6).
Every effort has been made to trace all the copyright holders but if any
have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers will be pleased to make
the necessary arrangements at the first opportunity.
xiii
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1. Art entrepreneurship: an
introduction
In many ways, the creation of art captures the essence of entrepreneurial

activity. It is a genuinely creative process that finds its origin in the artist’s
perception of highly subjective ideas, whose viability and ultimate impact
on the art arena are surrounded by genuine uncertainty. The process of
developing subjective ideas into tangible objects of art and convincing
often incredulous observers about their aesthetic or other qualities is often
arduous. From the artist’s perspective, it can be a process characterized
by doubts, frustrations, and setbacks, requiring unusual persistence for
arriving at the final product. It involves intellectual and practical develop-
ment of the art idea, sometimes requiring the solving of hitherto unknown
technical problems, as well as interaction with external observers to “sell”
the novel idea and make it accessible to the intended audience. Ultimately,
a few artistic ideas have the potential to radically alter perceptions about
art and what are considered established, legitimate, and taken-for-granted
artistic expressions.
Despite the obvious similarities between artistic work and entrepre-
neurial processes as they unfold in the business context, the two fields have
remained separate in terms of both academic research and practice. The
arts literature has mainly been concerned with art-related phenomena and
occasionally dealt with the assumedly particular nature and dynamics of
the art industry (for example Ormrod, 1999; Caves, 2000). Only rarely has
there been interest in the entrepreneurial aspects of artistic work, perhaps
because many artists remain fundamentally suspicious of anything that
has to do with commerce and business. Entrepreneurship research on its
side has traditionally focused on economic phenomena such as the crea-
tion of firms and the nature of the start-up process (for example Cooper,
2003; Davidsson, 2005; Landström, 2005), often from a practical point of
view. Issues such as creativity, subjectivity, and the cognitive aspects of
opportunity recognition have only recently been explored in some more
detail (Baron, 1998, 2006; Scherdin and Zander, 2008).
There are signs of change, however, as there is emerging interest in
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2 Art entrepreneurship
exploring the boundaries of the evolving domain of entrepreneurship

research (Steyaert and Hjorth, 2003; Steyaert and Katz, 2003; Hjorth,
Jones and Gartner, 2008; Rindova, Barry and Ketchen, 2009). The present
volume found its origin in the intuition that the creative setting of art and
artistic work must intersect with a number of phenomena dealt with by
the traditional entrepreneurship literature, with ample opportunities for
cross-fertilization between the two fields. It uses art and the art arena as
the conceptual and empirical platform from which to probe the issues
of novelty, creativity, and the meeting between the new and the old,
ultimately producing a number of observations and findings that may
contribute to the development of the entrepreneurship literature. In the
process, it introduces the (some would say heretic) notion of artistic entre-
preneurship as an equivalent to entrepreneurial processes observed in the
business world, illustrating how established conceptual and theoretical
work in the entrepreneurship literature can be of significant help in analys-
ing and understanding the nature and dynamics of the art arena. In this
way, what may be referred to as art entrepreneurship becomes the catalyst
for change and development in both fields of academic research.
Following a brief and general introduction to the fields of art and entre-
preneurship, this introductory chapter contains a set of short summaries
of the individual chapters and contributions. While the summaries can
only capture the main issues and arguments of each chapter, many of the
corollary points and insights will resurface in the concluding chapter of the
book. Some of the concluding reflections, extending into the traditional
domain of entrepreneurship research, concern issues such as the nature of
opportunity recognition and development, storytelling and the framing of
new ideas, multi-level and differentiated selection pressures acting upon
novel ideas, methodological openings, and policies aimed at renewal on
the art arena.
ART AND ENTREPRENEURSHIP – SOME GENERAL

POINTS OF DEPARTURE
The term entrepreneurship is most commonly associated with the discov-

ery and pursuit of new business opportunities through the creation of busi-
ness firms (Gartner, 1988; Shane and Venkataraman, 2000). In reflection
of this, and despite cautioning empirical evidence (for example Amit et
al., 2000; Carter et al., 2003), the entrepreneurship literature has typically
maintained a more or less explicit connection to individual wealth creation
(Landström, 2005).
At the more fundamental level, entrepreneurship can be defined as

Introduction 3
undertaking something in the face of genuine uncertainty (Knight, 1921;

Mises, 1949). This broader definition embraces the discovery and pursuit
of any new idea or project that bends, stretches, or transgresses existing
rules and structures (Holmquist, 2003), as well as the use of a multitude of
differentiated “vehicles” for its realization (cf. Lindgren and Packendorff,
2003). For example, new ideas and projects may be realized through the
formation of non-profit organizations, work within established firms and
organizations, or project teams of limited duration. Authors use books as
vehicles to convey new stories and opinions, and, in the world of art, new
ideas, projects, and philosophies are expressed in the form of art objects or
performances. In many of these cases, the ultimate aim of entrepreneurial
activity is only loosely connected to profit or wealth-creation motives,
and emphasis instead is placed on the potential of emancipation or removal
of perceived constraints in the individual’s environment (Rindova, Barry
and Ketchen, 2009).
In the context of art, entrepreneurship is about the discovery and
pursuit of new art ideas, using a multitude of artistic expressions
and organizational forms as vehicles by which to express and convey these
ideas to the public. This is a process that displays many of the character-
istics that have also been associated with entrepreneurial processes in the
business context. Closely reflecting the traditional focus on the individual
in entrepreneurship research (Shane, 2003; Shane and Eckhardt, 2003),
art and artistic processes have been intimately associated with the traits,
psychology, and activities of the individual artist; a great number of
popular accounts and penetrating biographies have explored the lives of
individual artists and the connections between their life experiences and
artistic production.
Artistic work is also about the introduction of novelty, which has
remained central to the entrepreneurship literature (Schumpeter, 1934;
cf. Kirzner, 2009) and figures prominently in popular perceptions about
the role and achievements of great entrepreneurs. Inevitably, and just like
in the business context, new art ideas are surrounded by risk and genuine
uncertainty, especially when it comes to the introduction of significant new
movements in art. Artistic ideas rarely come in fully fledged and developed
forms, and it is difficult to perceive the ultimate art objects and reactions
from the general public. Indeed, history shows how the reception of novel
work by critics or art audiences ranges from the scandal to rave reviews
(Lindqvist, this volume), and how the road to acceptance and recognition
from the general public is often long and arduous.
While at the fundamental level artistic work and entrepreneurship in
the business context thus display many similarities, the context of art
appears to be distinctive in three respects (more detail on the similarities

and differences will be found throughout this volume, especially the chap-
ters by Lindqvist, Bonnafous-Boucher, Cuir and Partouche, Meisiek and
Haefliger, and Barry): (1) it maintains a particularly pronounced focus on
creativity and the production of novelty (Wijnberg and Gemser, 2000),
and (2) it is concerned with the introduction of novel ideas and concepts
that are de-coupled from immediate utility or profit motives (Bonnafous-
Boucher, Cuir and Partouche, this volume). In many cases, artistic work
reflects the mere joy of creating and expressing something new, a sense
of wanting to communicate with and contribute to the cultural or wider
development of society, or simply the urge to deal and come to grips with
an artistic “itch” or possession that is still only rudimentarily perceived.
This then makes for special circumstances in the meeting between the new
and the old, where (3) the artist’s communication and persuasive efforts
must rest on other means than proof of practical usefulness or profit
potential.
Art and artistic processes thereby offer a distinctive and from a research
point of view fruitful arena for studying the issues of creativity, novelty,
and processes of transformation where the new seeks to position itself
alongside or replace the established and conventional. These issues and
processes are important study objects in their own right, especially as they
tend to be taken for granted and thus have escaped systematic reflection
and analysis among practicing artists and other actors on the art arena.
Studying artistic processes unfolding under the marked or “acid” condi-
tions of the art arena also promises to elucidate and elaborate on phenom-
ena that are found at the core of entrepreneurship research. These then
are the intuitions and assumptions that prompted and inspired the various
studies that are part of this book.
INDIVIDUAL CHAPTERS AND CONTRIBUTIONS
The individual chapters of the present volume represent a first attempt

to explore the fundamentals of what may collectively be termed art
entrepreneurship – how artists and people engaged in artistic activities
perceive of new art ideas, how these ideas are transformed into tangi-
ble objects of art and artistic expressions, and how they are ultimately
accepted or rejected by the general public.
In the opening chapter “Artist entrepreneurs”, Katja Lindqvist sets
the stage by exploring the similarities and differences between artists
and entrepreneurs, addressing issues such as their traditionally ascribed
characteristics, norm and rule breaking behaviours, and functions in the
process of bringing original ideas into the realm of consumers and larger

Introduction 5
society. The chapter indeed identifies many similarities between the two
groups, including that of broader developments in the academic literature
on both art and entrepreneurship. Of particular notice is the emergence
and existence of sometimes open-ended artistic processes, involving both
a collective of artists and the prospective audience in a process that could
be labelled co-productive. This particular type of creative process should
be observable also in the domain of other entrepreneurial ventures, specifi-
cally those dealing with social or cultural entrepreneurship, and emerges
as an appealing concept to be explored in future entrepreneurship studies.
In their chapter entitled “The new and the challenge of the market or
the non-instrumental function of creation”, Maria Bonnafous-Boucher,
Raphael Cuir, and Marc Partouche probe further into the uniting and
distinctive elements of artistic and entrepreneurial processes. They specifi-
cally propose and explore the fundamental distinction between creation
and creativity, suggesting that while the work of the artist is intimately
connected to creation, or uncaused action aiming at creation in and of
itself, entrepreneurship as it is commonly perceived is concerned with crea-
tivity, which adds usefulness as one of its key defining parameters.
Drawing upon numerous examples from the art arena, the authors
illustrate the fundamental and conceptually important distinction between
creation and creativity, as well as how the world of art has come to explore
and make use of the concept of the firm for both artistic and commercial
purposes. A proposed typology of existing relationships between artists
and firms effectively illustrates the distinction between the artist and the
entrepreneur, yet at the same time documents the potential or perhaps
already emerging fluidity between the fields of arts and business. While
convergence of the two fields remains an open question, the conceptual
distinctions made by the authors serve as a powerful starting point for
exploring what artists and entrepreneurs in the business context have in
common, and ultimately what they can learn from each other.
In the chapter entitled “Opportunity revelation: cogitative powers of
the brain”, Mikael Scherdin takes a closer look at the concept of opportu-
nity recognition as it has been treated in the traditional entrepreneurship
literature and brings it into the context of artistic processes. Drawing
upon advances in neurosciences and neurophilosophy, and specifically
the distinction between cognitive and cogitative powers of the brain, he
makes the argument that the traditional concept of opportunity recogni-
tion fails to capture the loosely coupled, internally driven, and open-ended
processes that are typical of creative and artistic processes. An auto-
ethnographic case study illustrates the emergence of an artistic concept
as seen from the perspective of the practicing artist. In conclusion, it is
suggested that the concept and process of opportunity revelation may be

an important complement to more traditionally perceived opportunity

recognition processes.
The chapter by Stefan Meisiek and Stefan Haefliger, entitled “Inviting
the unexpected: entrepreneurship and the arts”, suggests that for a number
of reasons art and artistic processes have a lot to tell about the creation
and ultimate acceptance of novelty. Drawing upon the empirical cases of
etoy and the MISSION ETERNITY project, they particularly emphasize
the importance of the unexpected in artistic processes. While the unex-
pected is usually regarded as destabilizing and confusing, in the creation
of novelty it has the opposite effect – it creates stability in the process that
connects the emergence of new ideas with ultimate acceptance by exter-
nal audiences. To support their idea, they insightfully argue that what is
perceived of and accepted as novel manages to successfully balance the
familiar and unfamiliar, and the valued and unvalued in unexpected yet
meaningful ways. This balancing act is accentuated in the context of art,
where both utility and the commercial aspects of creativity by tradition
have been either absent or played subsidiary roles.
Meisiek and Haefliger further document how a community of artists
can be highly beneficial in terms of embracing the unexpected and finding
the fruitful balance between the valued and unvalued. Drawing a number
of parallels to the extant entrepreneurship literature, the chapter con-
cludes by identifying several areas where entrepreneurship research is
likely to benefit from the study of art and artistic processes, including the
(productive) role of the unexpected throughout opportunity recognition
and development processes, the balancing of the new and the old in the
development of novel business concepts, as well as the particular dynamics
of entrepreneurial communities and the potentially unique effects on the
unfolding and ultimate impact of opportunity recognition and develop-
ment processes.
In a similar way, the chapter by Per Frankelius, entitled “Innovation
processes: experience drawn from the creation of Dalhalla”, uses empirical
observations from the cultural arena to critically assess existing percep-
tions and understandings of the concept of innovation. The chapter offers
a detailed account of the long, arduous, but ultimately successful process
of developing a new cultural concept, with a particular focus on multiple
and multi-faceted selection pressures in the environment. The case also
provides an illustration of how idea generators and project champions – in
the present case opera singer Margareta Dellefors – play a critical role in
overcoming various forms of resistance to novel ideas; yet, they may ulti-
mately lose control over their created ventures. In conclusion, Frankelius
draws attention to the fact that the traditional innovation literature,
focusing primarily on technology and product development, has ignored

Introduction 7
innovation in other parts of society such as art and culture. As the case
illustrates, studying innovation in these settings may provide new insights
into the unfolding and ultimate outcomes of innovation processes.
The chapter by Morten Søndergaard – “Distant relations: art practice
in a global culture” – again widens the perspective by exploring the emer-
gence of new artistic practices and how they are connected to the mould-
ing of a global culture. Drawing on his experiences from cooperating with
three artists, all of whom in various ways have explored the significance of
distant relations in their work, he suggests that new and emerging forms
of creative processes introduce new currents in Western culture. In this
process, what is termed global sociological art is identified as creating a
new language by which to approach and understand the integration and
reconciliation of today’s global society. Søndergaard’s chapter opens the
big and largely unexplored question of how existing structures of the art
arena, including artists, galleries, museums, and various funding agencies,
resonate with processes of globalization in the creation and selection of
new art.
The penultimate chapter, by Daved Barry, entitled “Art and entrepre-
neurship, apart and together”, takes a closer look at similarities and dif-
ferences between artists and art on the one hand and entrepreneurs and
entrepreneurship on the other. He then proceeds to critically examine if
and how art can inform entrepreneurship, and whether an “art of entrepre-
neurship” that accords with contemporary art thinking is possible. Based
on an insightful distinction between the casually artful and the formally
artistic, and what are referred to as different types of artmind (the two
types are referred to as artmind and Artmind, respectively), the chapter
provides several illustrations of how an artist’s way of thinking can benefit
entrepreneurial and business-related decision making. A particular call is
made for making more careful distinctions within the concept that is gen-
erally referred to as “art”, especially if the aim is to educate prospective
entrepreneurs in artful and artistic approaches to developing and sustain-
ing their entrepreneurial ventures.
The concluding chapter summarizes some of the main insights and
ideas generated by the individual chapters, with a particular emphasis on
new openings for research across the fields of art and entrepreneurship.
Specific issues include the subjective elements of opportunity recognition,
storytelling and framing in the introduction of novel ideas and concepts,
project hijacking, differentiated and multi-level selection processes, and
the use of the autoethnographic method. The concluding chapter also
includes thoughts about what practicing artists can learn from applying
an entrepreneurship perspective to their work, a section that contemplates
implications for art policy, as well as the (in all probability) significant

changes brought about by the globalization of art and the art arena. All
in all, we hope the concluding reflections may set in motion new thoughts
about the nature of creative and entrepreneurial processes, and inspire
further research in the fields of art and entrepreneurship alike.
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Introduction 9
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2. Artist entrepreneurs
Katja Lindqvist
Contemporary artists may resent being characterized as entrepreneurs, even

though the conditions of being an artist today clearly call for an enterpris-
ing approach. There are some interesting similarities in the construction
and perception of the Artist and the Entrepreneur that contradict the
received idea of these characters as opposites rather than doubles, and these
similarities will be explored in this chapter. For example, both the Artist
and the Entrepreneur are ascribed essential roles for the welfare of society,
but simultaneously have a hard time finding a clear position in economic
descriptions of society (Gopakumar, 1995; Frey, 2002; Santagata, 2002;
Skinner, 2006). Another characteristic common for both the Artist and the
Entrepreneur is that they challenge contemporary conventions and norms.
They do this in order to gain either professionally or privately, or both. But
being entrepreneurial is not only about realizing new things or things in a
new and challenging way – it is also about playing a social game and balanc-
ing innovation against acceptance (Lindqvist, 2007). The dynamics between
innovation and novelty creation on one hand, as entrepreneurial and artis-
tic core activities, and conventions on the other, will be discussed in this
chapter, with a look at both theoretical conceptions and historical examples.
Contemporary art is modern in the sense that artists are rewarded for
rule-breaking within a rather strictly defined social space. If they trespass
the boundary of this social space, they are sure to be questioned as to
their artistic ethic, not to say the legality of the artwork and its produc-
tion process. In 2009, Anna Odell, art student at Konstfack (University
College of Arts, Crafts and Design) in Stockholm, and an artist called
Nug, previously studying at the same art school, were accused of misuse of
tax money and criminal action. Former art professor Lars Vilks has been
subject of both lawsuits and police protection for artworks he has pro-
duced.1 These are just a few recent examples of artistic work that has been
ethically and/or legally criticized and tried. Perhaps the scandal is the form
in which most people encounter contemporary art. But if we look below
the surface of art scandals, there are some interesting questions to be asked
regarding why art seems to generate scandals.
10

Artist entrepreneurs 11
ART AND ENTREPRENEURSHIP IN SOCIETY

Both Entrepreneurs and Artists are ascribed an essential role for the
welfare of society, but simultaneously it is difficult to accurately measure
their contribution to the economy, especially in the case of start-up entre-
preneurial enterprises and contemporary artists. The long-term value of an
artist, as measured by reputation or sales figures for artworks, and of an
entrepreneur starting out with a new venture, does not necessarily reveal
itself overnight. Many attempts at measuring the contribution of art to
social and economic welfare have been undertaken (Myerscough, 1988;
Bille Hansen, 1995; Throsby, 1999; Santagata, 2002), but the measurable
value remains hard to determine. Nevertheless, the arts are central to our
everyday lives, and most of the funding for culture is paid for by consum-
ers. In the same way entrepreneurship is perceived by politicians and others
as very important for the future economy and development, but invest-
ments aimed at stimulating entrepreneurship have fuzzy pay-back hori-
zons (Schultz, 1980; Mason and Harrison, 2002; Westhead et al., 2005).
NORM AND RULE BREAKING
The establishment of aesthetic judgement as an autonomous domain

beside the realms of (pure) reason and morality (Kant, [1790] 1987) led to
a specialization of both production and consumption of art in Modernity.
This liberated artists from the demand to produce morally constructive
art, and so everyday street-life and other motives previously considered
“too simple” could be placed within frames. This autonomization of art
from reason and morality (Law) was closely linked with the separation
of public and private spheres in society; private life was kept apart from
public life. However, in the dedifferentiated late-modern society, the
separated realms of public and private, of art and morality and reason,
are again fused. The border between private and public has been erased,
and art has again taken morality as a central element. If the production of
art has become dedifferentiated, also the consumption of art today relates
to morality: the value of art that expresses “unsound” moral standards
is questioned by various stakeholder groups (Phelan, 1990; McLeod and
MacKenzie, 1998). Paradoxically, the idea of the autonomy of art is still
heralded by both producers and consumers of art.
When causing a scandal, artists usually claim that their intention was
far from purposefully seeking attention, but rather to point to alternative
forms of perception of a phenomenon or question, or a critique of prevail-
ing norms (Guillet de Monthoux, 2000). Sometimes, such artistic action

is perceived differently as time passes – criticized works become redefined

as pioneering and groundbreaking works of art. Some examples are the
Fauvists in the first years of the 20th century and Hermann Nitsch in more
recent times. The drive to challenge convention and tradition is a charac-
teristic of the contemporary art market that bears close resemblance with
other contemporary markets, where novelty is appreciated. Art buyers,
just as other buyers, often prefer “what’s new” (Wijnberg and Gemser,
2000). Thus there is a demand for constant innovation in contemporary
art as well as in other contemporary markets. For an artistic innovation
the potential gains for the Artist are large, whereas he or she has little to
lose (Goldthwaite, 1993; Wijnberg, 1997; Hutter, 2008). Innovation and
novelty would not be discernible or cause scandals if not undertaken in a
context where, paradoxically, conventions and norms are strongly present.
These norms and regulations can be explicitly stated or implicit; they might
refer to content, form, production, distribution and/or consumption of
artworks, or to various roles involved in the production, distribution and
consumption of an artwork (Altshuler, 2008). The paradoxical situation
for artists is that there are clear societal norms for the role of art in society,
which are not in pace with contemporary dedifferentiation of society.
The same fundamental relationship between creative destruction and
norms or tradition is at the very heart of the entrepreneurial function in an
economic or societal system (Schumpeter, 1912). From Schumpeter’s per-
spective as an economist, the entrepreneurial function and role is played
by an actor who by introducing novelty in input, output, production or
some other dimension of the economic system, changes the overall pattern
of production, consumption, perception or similar of that particular item
or industry. (Other researchers have claimed that the action of introduc-
ing novelty results in an equilibration of the market; Kirzner, 1973; Geary,
1990; Alvarez and Barney, 2005; Kirzner, 2009.) A more business studies
based definition of the Entrepreneur is someone establishing a new enter-
prise (Geary, 1990; Stevenson and Jarillo, 1990; Austin, Stevenson and
Wei-Skillern, 2006). The very novelty of entrepreneurial proposals may
provoke unexpected reactions from the market and competitors as well
as from the general public (Shane and Venkataraman, 2000). Business
concepts that challenge the traditional market or forms of consumption
often create emotional reactions and media coverage. For example, the
Swedish entrepreneurs behind the free newspaper Metro, distributed in
the underground of Stockholm in 1995, were despised by the established
printed news press, but welcomed by the market. The newspaper eventu-
ally revolutionalized the whole newspaper industry in Sweden and the
world, and is today in turn being challenged by internet news media, along
with other printed daily papers.

PRODUCT AND PROCESS INNOVATION

It is interesting to compare originality, which is highly valued by the visual
art field and art history, to the notion of innovation and its relation to
entrepreneurship (Siguaw et al., 2006; Mahmoud-Jouini and Charue-
Duboc, 2008). Innovation and entrepreneurship have strong and close
links in entrepreneurship research. Here, entrepreneurship is distinguished
as the action taken to implement an innovation, to take a new product
or service to the market. Artistic originality, on the other hand, is usually
linked to style innovation only. This is probably due to the repression in
art history of organizationally or economically related dimensions of art-
istry. In the art field, innovation is typically linked to an internal renewal
and original development with regard to artistic techniques, such as the
breaking up of the central perspective in turn of the century Europe, and
the introduction of real objects in painting and sculpture around the same
time period, or the development of conceptual art in the 1960s.
But from a business studies perspective artist entrepreneurship can be
as much about innovation in organization and economic management,
as about the traditional style innovation. Entrepreneurship in the art
world could then be defined as suggesting alternative forms of practice in
contrast to and over and above dominant practices (Steyaert and Katz,
2004). As content and form can be separated analytically as tools for
investigating art, so can technical innovation be separated from organiza-
tional entrepreneurship in the art world. This distinction in artistic work,
between new organization of work and new styles of artistic work, echoes
Schumpeter’s (1942) distinction between various forms of entrepreneur-
ship. Schumpeter had a broad perception of the notion of newness, in that
it could refer to either products or processes, and thus the same distinction
between organization (process) and style (product) can be distinguished
in entrepreneurship theory. Whereas innovation of artistic motive and
techniques through style has been well documented by art historians
(Vasari, [1550] 1998; Wölfflin, 1915), the organizational aspects of artistic
work have been less researched, especially in regards to entrepreneurship
(Hauser, 1962; Wolff, 1981).
DIVINE TALENT
A further similarity between the Artist and the Entrepreneur is the per-
ceived divine ability to envision and act upon the future. The aura of the
Entrepreneur is linked to this mystical and mythical perceived ability to
see things before others, of doing something new, that cannot be described

or measured with existing value scales. Thus, there is a parallel between the
myth of the Entrepreneur and the myth of the Artist as charismatic, alche-
mist, visionary, undertaker and creator, standing out against a blurry,
grey environment of day-to-day routine and mainstream action without
reflection.
Since the days of Schumpeter, the Entrepreneur has taken on a mytho-
logical dimension in economic thinking, especially as a Saviour of stagnat-
ing industries. This divine association is not far-fetched, as the innovative
or creative abilities of entrepreneurs are difficult to forecast, and therefore
are “written in the stars”. Artists are also sometimes described as genii, in
other words, gifted with divine forces or abilities. This particularly applies
to Romanticism’s perception of the artistry of the Artist. In consequence,
the elusiveness but also attraction and glamour of the Entrepreneur and
the Artist can shortly be described as their divine talent in designing and
implementing what has not previously existed; their ability to realize
something only envisioned. It seems that entrepreneurs and artists alike
partly use this myth to articulate themselves, but partly also downplay
uniqueness (Lounsbury and Glynn, 2001; Lange, 2006; Røyseng, Mangset
and Spord Borgen, 2007).
The idea of the visionary Entrepreneur or Artist being “ahead of his or
her time” is one way of describing the approach to enterprising based on
personal convictions and gut feeling rather than on rationally undertaken
analyses to assess the market for a novelty or innovation (Guve, 2007;
Lindqvist, 2008). The individual style of the Artist today is one way of
securing a niche market, based on the skills and orientation of the Artist;
a strategy similar to many aesthetic enterprises or luxury goods compa-
nies (DiMaggio, 1991). The approach to demand uncertainty is similar
among entrepreneurs. From a functional perspective, the Entrepreneur is
the actor who is willing to undertake risky investments, and this demands
a vision for a future different from the contemporary (Ripsas, 1998). In
the absence of clear predictions of demand or the commercial potential of
an innovation, the Entrepreneur may face prospective investors focusing
more on the conviction of the initiator than on clearly recognized need
(Bain, 2005; Berglund et al., 2007).
DEVELOPMENTS WITHIN ENTREPRENEURSHIP

AND ART THEORY
In the 1980s, the postmodern turn meant a new perspective on the Artist
and the production of artworks among sociologically interested scholars
(Foucault, [1969] 1977; Wolff, 1981; Becker, 1982). The context of the

Artist and the artwork was recognized as a direct or indirect influence

on individual expressions, and artistic work recognized as more collec-
tive than described by modernistic interpreters of art (Beardsley, 1958;
Bätschmann, 1997; Bourriaud, 1998; Hutter and Throsby, 2008). In the
2000s, the same social turn occurred in entrepreneurship research. The
concept of entrepreneurship has been considerably broadened to include
social and societal dimensions and contexts in an urge to democratize
entrepreneurship (Baumol, 1990; Thornton, 1999; Kuhnert, 2001; Shane
and Cable, 2002; Popp, 2003; Lange, 2006; Steyaert and Hjorth, 2006;
Drakopoulou Dodd and Anderson, 2007; Parkinson and Howorth,
2008).
Researchers now suggest that entrepreneurship emerges from active
negotiation and construction in a process where ideas and action take
form in an encounter with situations of uncertainty. Original ideas are
rephrased in response to reactions and accumulating knowledge as the
ideas are tested in interaction with others, emphasizing the importance of
processes in entrepreneurial action (Thornton, 1999; Øyhus, 2003; Dimov,
2007; Glassmann, 2008) rather than decisions and actions undertaken by
single individuals. Actions, contexts, and roles considered mundane and
non-entrepreneurial among some entrepreneurship researchers are now
(re-)labelled entrepreneurial by others, for example in mundane social
situations and outside the business sphere (Curran, 1986; Merrifield, 1993;
Antoncic and Hisrich, 2003; Rehn and Taalas, 2004; Steyaert and Katz,
2004; Greenwood and Suddaby, 2006; Sköld and Rehn, 2007; Parkinson
and Howorth, 2008).
Ultimately, it is the market and market interaction that defines
entrepreneurship (apart from the perspective of the Entrepreneur as
founder of new business enterprises), in both business and the arts. Thus,
the social context co-creating individuals on both arenas needs to be
broadened even beyond contemporary perceptions of entrepreneurs and
artists enabled by their social and economic networks. Also, consumers
construct the Entrepreneur and the Artist through their appreciation or
lack of interest in particular novelties. Entrepreneurial offers need to be
appreciated in order to actually become consumed, and in the same way
artworks are completed only in their consumption moment. Therefore,
an aspect of both entrepreneurship and artistry is the interaction with
the consumer/public (Frey, 1997). Artists offer services as interactive
artworks, fully merging art experience and consumption, and many art-
works respond to the presence of visitors and spectators. In this respect,
the relationship between art and its consumers resembles the tradition-
ally described relationship between consumer and consumer services and
goods.

MOTIVATION
Finally, just as artistic practice is often claimed to be disconnected from
making money, many entrepreneurs state that their primary drive in
novelty creation and innovation is not about making money, but about
realizing ideas and being free from restraints (Roberts, 1991; Shane et al.,
1991; Caves, 2003; Shane et al., 2003; Rindova, Barry and Ketchen, 2009).
Nevertheless, starting new ventures is a way of making a living profession-
ally (Beaver, 2003), so, even though economic issues are suppressed in the
art world described by art sociologists like Bourdieu, the conditions pre-
vailing for individual professionals are similar for both entrepreneurs and
artists. The two levels of personal life and professional life are intertwined
in entrepreneurial and artistic enterprises alike (Jansson, 2008).
CONCLUDING REFLECTIONS
From the discussion conducted in this chapter, it can be concluded that

artists and entrepreneurs have several characteristics in common. First,
artists’ and entrepreneurs’ contribution to the economy is difficult to pin
down, even though they are considered absolutely central for the welfare
and development of society. Both art and entrepreneurship usually reveal
their value over time, and it is difficult to accurately assess future value
creation. Second, both artists and entrepreneurs are norm and rule break-
ers. The scandals associated with art and artists highlight challenges to
the prevailing norms and regulations in society, just as entrepreneurial
innovations challenge the status quo by revolutionizing either markets or
competition, or both.
Third, both the Artist and the Entrepreneur are ascribed an ability to
foresee future developments, and hereby groundbreaking innovations are
only explainable ex-post. Both artists and entrepreneurs who introduce
radical novelty may be ridiculed by their contemporaries, but can be rede-
fined as visionaries by later generations. Fourth, entrepreneurial achieve-
ments may appear as either outcome or product innovation, or as process
or organization innovation. In relation to artistic and creative work,
however, the process or organizational achievements are clearly under-
researched, whereas both product and process innovation are central
elements of entrepreneurship research.
Fifth, both the arts and entrepreneurship literatures have evolved in
somewhat similar patterns over time, even though entrepreneurship as
a distinct field of research has emerged only during the last few decades;
arts history and theory has developed since the 16th century. Sixth and

finally, the consumption of both artworks and entrepreneurial novel-

ties is a significant defining element, as it is only through acceptance and
consumption that their status is confirmed. Here, the arts literature points
at some developments that could also be expected to emerge in the entre-
preneurship literature, especially the issue of co-production or interaction
with the environment in the entrepreneurial effort and the management of
uncertainty.
If arts and aesthetic products are becoming more and more central to
both production and consumption in contemporary society, there would
be several lessons to learn from a closer study of artists as entrepreneurs.
More empirical research on entrepreneurial artists and their enterprises
thus remains to be undertaken. And there is a whole new field to be dis-
covered if research on the arts and entrepreneurship goes beyond style
innovation, and beyond the headlines created by a small fraction of all
contemporary artistic enterprises. Companies would certainly profit from
a better understanding of the complex dynamics of entrepreneurship
in the arts, as demand across markets becomes unpredictable, relation-
ships with various stakeholders become more central to credibility, and
price becomes less important for consumption decisions relative to other
factors. Artist entrepreneurship as process and organizational innovation
offers new solutions and approaches to value production, especially by
linking utility to experience and sensibility.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am indebted to Ivo Zander and Mikael Scherdin for continuous discus-

sions on the topic and comments on the text in various stages. I am also
indebted to Lars Albert for sharing ideas and literature. I also wish to
thank Anders W. Johansson, Anna Alexandersson, Patrik Persson, Ulla
Johansson, Michaela Sandell, Frederic Bill and Andreas Jansson for con-
structive comments on a previous version of this text.
NOTES
1. Anna Odell in the spring of 2009 staged a suicide attempt on a bridge in Central
Stockholm, as part of the preparations for her final work to be presented at the
graduation show at the University College for Arts, Crafts and Design in Stockholm
(Konstfack). She video recorded the staging and audio recorded later conversations with
staff at the psychiatric emergency ward of St. Göran hospital. At the hospital, she eventu-
ally told staff that her condition had been staged, and that it was part of her graduation
work. Before the opening of the graduation show, Odell refused to explain her actions,

but in connection to her finalized work, “Okänd, kvinna 2009-349701”, she described
the aim as repeating a real psychotic emergency in which she had found herself fifteen
years earlier. The artwork contains three elements, digital film, sound and text. Odell
was heavily criticized by psychiatric staff, police, and politicians, accused of wasting
taxpayers’ money and the serving institutions’ resources, and reported to the police for
fraudulent practice, false alarm, and violent resistance (Dagens Nyheter 2009-01-27).
In an ensuing court process, she was eventually fined for fraudulent practice (Dagens
Nyheter 2009-01-29, 2009-02-08, 2009-05-08, 2009-05-13, 2009-08-31).
A video work named “Territorial pissing” by the Swedish artist Nug (Magnus
Gustafsson) was displayed at the Market art fair in Stockholm in February 2009 (Dagens
Nyheter 2009-06-24). The work was originally produced as graduation work at the
School of Arts and Crafts in Stockholm in 2008, and displayed at the graduation show.
The work was shown by a gallerist at the fair. When the Minister for Culture, Lena
Adelsohn Liljeroth, saw the work, she claimed that it was not a piece of art (Dagens
Nyheter 2009-02-14). In the work, a masked person is seen spraying black colour over
the interiors of an underground carriage, and at the end of the film jumping out of one
of the windows of the carriage, thus breaking it. Gustafsson, who is a well-known graf-
fiti artist in Sweden (Aftonbladet 2009-02-16), was reported to the police, suspected of
severe property damage by the Stockholm county transportation company (SL), but the
charges had to be dropped due to lack of evidence. However, a claim for damages of Skr.
100 000 is still maintained by SL (Svenska Dagbladet 2009-05-04).
Lars Vilks, Swedish artist and author, former professor at the Art Academy of Bergen,
has become widely known for his artworks Nimis, Arx and Omfalos on which he started
to work in 1980. The artworks are located in a state called Ladonien, which is geographi-
cally located in Skåne in Southern Sweden. Vilks also drew an image of Muhammed
as a roundabout dog (the roundabout dog history was another provocative expression
of street art, which continued for some time in various locations in Sweden; for further
details and history, see http://sv.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rondellhund), which led to death
threats addressed to the artist. The Nimis and Arx works are sculptural constructions
of wood and stone in the Kullaberg natural reserve in the municipality of Höganäs in
Skåne, which Vilks has erected without a building permit, and which therefore have been
the object of several legal processes. According to Vilks, these legal processes and author-
ity actions constitute part of the artworks. A third work, Omfalos, made of concrete,
was removed in 2001 after a court decision (Vilks, 1994, 2003). The artworks are seen by
thousands of visitors each year.
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3. The new and the challenge of the
market or the non-instrumental
function of creation
Maria Bonnafous-Boucher, Raphael Cuir and
Marc Partouche
Creativity is recognized as a key success factor of start-up ventures

(Amabile, 1997; Simonton, 1999; Baron, 2000; Venkataraman and Shane,
2000), and plays a key role in the influential theory of endogenous eco-
nomic growth pertaining to information-age societies (Getz and Lubart,
1998). As a result, theories focusing on the importance of the creative
spirit for management and entrepreneurship have entered the mainstream.
Marcel Duchamp, The Bottle Rack, 1914
23

Examples of this phenomenon include Richard Florida (2004) with his

best seller The Rise of the Creative Class, Teresa Amabile, Geir Kaufman,
Todd Lubart, Linda O’Hara, and many others. All these initiatives explic-
itly or implicitly defend the idea of economic creation conceptualized on
the pattern of artistic creation. However, they are more closely related
to creativity – the psychological process supporting creative spirit in a
company – than to creation in and of itself. In other words, we should be
careful to distinguish creativity from creation.
An analysis of over seventy articles on creativity in the fields of market-
ing, entrepreneurship, management, organization, business, psychology
and creativity (from 1967 to 2008) reveals a consensus based on a defini-
tion which is also ‘accepted by most psychologists’ (Rouquette, 2007: 15).
Creativity can be defined as the development of ideas or products which
are both new and partially useful (Binnewies, Ohly and Sonnentag, 2007).
Two qualities characterizing creativity emerge: it generates the “the new”
and aims for “the useful”. But do these two characteristics make it possible
to distinguish between creativity and creation? And do they give us a key
to understanding the similarity between economic creation and artistic
creation, all the while bearing in mind that artist-creators exert a fascina-
tion over entrepreneur-creators?
CREATION AND THE PRODUCTION OF THE NEW
Contemporary critics and art historians are wary of the notion of creation –
which they often regard as overly emphatic – preferring instead ideas such as
work and production (Huitorel, 2008: 68). The notion of creation is not dif-
ficult to define; indeed, it is a good deal simpler and more homogeneous than
the idea of creativity. The notion of creation was developed in the Middle
Ages, primarily by theologians who thought of it as a divine monopoly,
whence Albert the Great’s definition (around 1230): ‘To create is to produce
something starting with nothing.’ This conception of creation – implicitly, the
production of something new – held sway for hundreds of years. During the
Renaissance, the creative power of the artist was recognized and gradually
made ground, but only as a gift from God, because only God can create some-
thing out of nothing. For their contemporaries, Michelangelo and Leonardo
da Vinci were creative geniuses only by the grace of divine intervention.
The field of creation became progressively more secular and creators
gradually began to throw off the shackles of divine tutelage. ‘Beaux-arts
are the arts of genius’ (Kant, [1790] 1965: 204). Creation was assimilated
to invention and the production of original works, and the genius of the
individual came to be regarded as the ‘exemplary originality of his talent’

The new and the challenge of the market 25
The newin in
The new creation
creation
Creation
Audience,
including creators
New
Creators
Figure 3.1 The new in creation. Creators create the new, while the public,
including creators themselves, become aware of it, and, in turn,
have the possibility of creating and producing the new
(Kant, [1798] 1964: 142), the specific field of the creator being that of the
creative imagination (ibid.) which generates novelty. This Kantian idea of
creation was dominant until the 19th century. In the 20th, the power of
creation, originally restricted to a small number of geniuses blessed with
innate talent, slowly became generalized, and artists such as Joseph Beuys
and the Fluxus movement promoted the view that all human beings have
the potential to be artists.
According to this view, modern art can be characterized by its obsession
with the new or, from a slightly different perspective, by the tradition of
the new (Rosenberg, [1959] 1962); ‘the perspectives and concepts of art –
even the materials with which it is made – change on an almost seasonal
basis’ (Rosenberg, [1972] 1992: 41), a phenomenon marked by a succes-
sion of avant-garde movements from the Futurists to the New Realists.
Ben, an artist belonging to the School of Nice (which prefigures the New
Realists), wrote his manifesto on the New in 1960. Although short, this
analysis demonstrates that creation has always been thought of as the
production of the new (Figure 3.1).
IS CREATION LINKED TO THE PRODUCTION OF

WHAT IS USEFUL?
It has been maintained by Immanuel Kant, amongst others, that art as
creation has no purpose other than that of a game (Kant, [1790] 1965: 200).

Even today, the notion of creation is generally opposed to any idea of im-
mediate usefulness. As the artist Lawrence Wiener put it: ‘[I]n my opinion,
as soon as Art becomes useful, even by penetrating the culture, it ceases to
be Art and becomes History’ (Wiener, 1970). Addressing the issue of art’s
usefulness, the philosopher Arthur Danto gleefully employed the following
chiasmus: ‘art is good in that it is good for nothing and its usefulness resides
in the fact that it is of no use’ (Danto, [1986] 1993: 31). In fact, creation
is implicitly assimilated to a free act – an action without preconditions –
sufficient unto itself so that the creative act constitutes a radical act in
freedom without preconditions (Bonnafous-Boucher, [2007] 2008).
Three works, by Marcel Duchamp (1887–1968), Constantin Brancusi
(1876–1957) and Bertrand Lavier (1949), which have had a considerable
impact on the history of art in the 20th century, and which are of particu-
lar interest in terms of their direct or indirect relationships with industrial
objects, serve to demonstrate how art has been defined in terms of its lack
of usefulness.
The Industrial Object As Sculpture: Marcel Duchamp
Marcel Duchamp’s “The Bottle Rack” is an example of an industrial

object as sculpture, given that, thanks to its newfound status as a work
of art, it has lost its original purpose (Figure 3.2). “The Bottle Rack” was
not the artist’s first “ready-made”. With the transformation of “The Bottle
Rack” (or “Bottle Dryer” or “Hedgehog”), Duchamp (1887–1968) con-
tinued to explore the ready-made concept of which he was the inventor.
What were the ideas underlying his approach? In the ironmongery section
of the Bazar de l’Hôtel de Ville in Paris, Duchamp “chose” a bottle rack
with five rows, each with ten pegs, due to what he described as its “indif-
ference”. He presented the object, hanging from the ceiling just above the
ground, in his own home.
Talking of his approach, the artist said: ‘The choice of these ready-
mades was never dictated by any kind of artistic delectation. It was based
on a reaction characterized by visual indifference simultaneously coupled
with a total absence of either good or bad taste . . . In fact it was a kind of
complete anaesthesia’ (Partouche, [1991] 2005).
“The Bottle Rack”, an industrial object transformed into a work of art,
followed the “Bicycle Wheel” of 1913 (an inverted bicycle wheel fixed to
the top of a stool). Now, any product – whether industrially produced or
not – could become a work of art. Functional objects became works of
art by losing their functionality, their original purpose. While the original
object is useful to the creator or the culture, Marcel Duchamp’s work bru-
tally highlights the chasm between artistic creation and the useful.

Figure 3.2 Marcel Duchamp (1887–1968). “The Bottle Rack” (or

“Bottle Dryer” or “Hedgehog”) 1914, galvanized iron, 64 3
42 cm in diameter. © ADAGP
The Affirmation of the Non-utilitarian Character of the Work of Art: The

Brancusi Trial
The case of the Brancusi trial is extremely eloquent. In 1923, Constantin

Brancusi (1876–1957) created a sculpture entitled “Bird in Space” (Figure
3.3). There are several versions of the work in both marble and bronze. A
few years later, in 1928, the Brancusi versus the United States of America
trial was held in New York. Along with around twenty other pieces, “Bird
in Space” had been sent to the Brummer Gallery in New York which was
holding an exhibition of the artist’s work. Pieces by Brancusi, including
“Bird in Space” – which had been displayed at the Armory Show in 1913

Figure 3.3 Constantin Brancusi (1876–1957). “Bird in Space”, 1923,

polished bronze, 137 3 22 3 16 cm. Paris, Musée National
d’Art Moderne – Centre Georges Pompidou. © CNAC/
MNAM/RMN
– had already been allowed through US customs with no undue problems.

But in 1926, ‘this piece of yellow metal [. . .] polished like a mirror’ gave
the American authorities, who were quick to notice its “industrial finish”,
pause for thought. While the normal procedure was to exonerate works of
art, this time they decided that the object in question was industrial and
that taxes were therefore to be levied. The case was brought to ensure that
no taxes would be levied on the work of art.
The transcripts of the trial provided a number of elements used to define
what a work of art should be. To qualify as such an object it was stated
that the following conditions had to be met: (1) the object must be an origi-
nal and not a copy (there can be no more than two copies of a work); (2)
the work must resemble a work of art and not a natural object; and (3) the
work must not be ‘interpreted as including utilitarian objects’. The proofs
to be furnished are defined in legal texts which can be used to establish that
the article in question is an original “sculpture” or “statue”, “produced by
a professional sculptor” as part of his or her “professional activities”, and
that it has no “utilitarian” purpose.
Amongst the essential qualities of a work of art officially attributed

by the American authorities were the originality of the new and a lack
of purpose. During the trial, witnesses called by Brancusi were asked to
demonstrate that “Bird in Space” was indeed a work of art. ‘Can you see
any utilitarian function for this object?’ ‘None’, replied the artists Edward
Steichen and Jacob Epstein, a response seconded by Frank Crowninshield,
editor of Vanity Fair and Henry McBride, art critic at The Sun (Rowell
and Paleologue, 1995: 18, 33, 39, 45).
The decision rendered by the judge did not question the definition
implied in the question. It did, however, recognize that the work – initially
thought to be an industrial object – was indeed bereft of any utilitarian
function. The judgment included the comment: ‘. . . a so-called modern
school of art has developed whose members try to represent abstract ideas
rather than to imitate natural objects . . .’ (Rowell and Paleologue, 1995:
117). Brancusi won the case, which set a legal precedent in the United
States.
Work of Art, Industrial Object, or Utilitarian Option: the Case of Bertrand

Lavier
“Brandt sur Haffner” is a “sculpture”, an “assembly”, in which a white

refrigerator stands atop a yellow safe. It is the first work by Bertrand
Lavier in which one object is placed on top of another one (Figure 3.4).
The piece, which rests on a pedestal, is a dual homage, at once a reference
to Marcel Duchamp’s “The Bicycle Wheel” and to the artist’s puns and a
nod in the direction of Brancusi’s technique of “mounting” his sculptures
on pedestals which are themselves sculptures.
What is original in Bertrand Lavier’s approach is that the objects he
selects retain their use value. (Re)displayed as if they had just left the
shop, they can still be opened and closed and even used as either a fridge
or a safe, since the artist has not altered their interior in any way. Not
even their brand names have been removed. New consumer objects, they
are presented as if they are on sale. Only the strangeness of the assembly
– the “fortuitous meeting” of its constituent elements – demarcates the
border between the everyday object and the work of art. Addressing this
issue, Lavier wrote: ‘“Brandt sur Haffner” is at the mid-point between the
museum and the department store, a point that is impossible to find.’
Following in the footsteps of Duchamp and Brancusi, Lavier continued
to explore a question that seems to touch upon the fundamental principles
of art (what is a sculpture, a painting: is it an artistic, industrial or com-
mercial object?). The almost shocking demonstrative power of this line
of thought seems to derive from the simplicity of its propositions. Unlike
Marcel Duchamp, Bertrand Lavier does not deprive objects of their

Figure 3.4 Bertrand Lavier (born in 1949). “Brandt sur Haffner”,

Brandt refrigerator on top of a Haffner safe, 251 3 70 3 65
cm (1984). Paris, Musée National d’Art Moderne – Centre
Georges Pompidou. © CNAC/MNAM/RMN
usefulness, but the objective of his work does not reside in the possibility
of using the objects in question, which remains one option amongst others,
left to the choice of the buyer.
These three examples of artistic production suggest that while the pro-
duction of the new is a common characteristic of both creation and crea-
tivity, creation and creativity do not share common objectives. Creation
has little to do with usefulness. Indeed, its products can be defined – even
legally defined – by their uselessness. The creation of the new has no
purpose but itself, while creativity is a process of the new and of innova-
tion which can be applied to pre-determined uses. From this point of view,
it is hardly surprising that management studies in creativity are focusing
on the new in utilitarian terms. Can the distinction between creativity and
creation be applied to entrepreneurial and artistic activities? Can it be

deduced that modelling entrepreneurial activities on the figure of the artist

encompasses an aspect of entrepreneurship which does not directly seek
the useful, and that modelling the artist on the figure of the entrepreneur
would correspond to seeking out usefulness within creation?
We can thus ask ourselves if entrepreneurs can really model their
approach on that of artists, or whether entrepreneurship is merely a spe-
cialized case of the larger phenomenon of creativity? Should we consider
that ‘entrepreneurs are first and foremost creators who apply their crea-
tivity to the domain of opportunity recognition and venture creation and
development’ (Baronet, 2003a, 2003b)? And, reciprocally, can the kind
of approach taken by entrepreneurs be applied in a meaningful way by
artists?
ENTREPRENEURS AS CREATORS, A CRITICAL

POINT OF VIEW
The parallels between, on the one hand, artistic creation, and, on the
other, entrepreneurial creation, are based on a capacity to produce a type
of action that represents a rupture in the ordinary course of events. This
rupture is characterized by two essential capacities: firstly, free action, that
is a specific causality called “uncaused cause” (Kant, [1798] 1964; Shackle,
1979); and, secondly, for the entrepreneur, subversion through “creative
destruction”. Free action is detached from any notion of usefulness, while
“creative destruction” seeks the useful by proposing new products and
services on the market.
Economic Creation and Artistic Creation: Free Action as an Uncaused

Cause
One of the most important capacities of entrepreneurs derives from their

conception of free action, the results and motivations of which cannot be
exclusively explained by calculations of an economic nature and the desire
to make money. This is where the real similarity with artistic creation
lies. The act of becoming involved in entrepreneurship comes under the
general category of action which is linked to an absolute beginning and
the conditions of freedom. For both entrepreneurs and artists, there is no
pre-established order which authorizes a particular type of action or the
creation of a company or work of art. The entrepreneur has the capacity
to trigger a series of phenomena ex nihilo or, in other words, to be at the
origin of a complete series of events. This is also true of the artist.
To create, in this context, is a first cause, free from all pre-conditions,

which does not have to be founded on anterior causes. Creation is, there-
fore, detached from any immediate quest for usefulness. Schumpeter’s
great merit consisted of shifting the perception of the entrepreneur from
that of an individual motivated by profit to that of a utilitarian homo oeco-
nomicus. The entrepreneur’s motivations do not necessarily correspond to
conventional utility curves. The motives and causes which encourage an
individual to create and innovate are not identical; indeed, they can origi-
nate in, amongst other things, a taste for creation or power, or a desire
to overcome normal constraints. Entrepreneurs are not necessarily moti-
vated by greed and profit (Amit et al., 2000); indeed, they are more often
inspired by the idea of progress, technological or otherwise, or merely
fuelled by a desire to fulfil their dreams (Zander, 2007). In this respect they
are similar to artists, many of whom reject any association with the more
commercial aspects of their field of activity.
Since entrepreneurs define the foundations of the category of action
and the free act by what they do, any definition of the archetypal figure
of the entrepreneur remains problematic. Like artists, entrepreneurs are
individuals who reveal themselves through action, individuals who are
attracted by risk, for whom the prospect of success is a powerful element
of a desire to assert themselves, and who dare to act even when some of the
relevant data are not available. Consequently, entrepreneurs are creators
of an absolute beginning of a causal chain of actions: an infinite number
of series of cause and effect. Schumpeter does not use any of these catego-
ries to infer that the entrepreneur belongs to an actually existing class of
entrepreneurs. From Schumpeter’s point of view, entrepreneurship is not
a distinct social phenomenon. In fact, it is more a state of mind linked to
the status of entrepreneur than an adherence to an actually existing social
body (the same is true of the artist).
This line of thought effectively builds a bridge between Kant’s idea
of freedom and Schumpeter’s idea of creation: creation belongs to the
general category of action which has no cause other than itself. For Kant,
creation is causality through freedom. In other words, any form of crea-
tion is linked to freedom posited as freedom, or as a condition of action
bereft of pre-conditions. In this context, action is the sufficient reason of
action; it is its first cause and is thus free. In the realm of human action
(which is opposed to the realm of the laws of nature) we admit a causality
through freedom, or, in the words of Shackle (1979), an “uncaused cause”.
In Imagination and the Nature of Choice, Shackle insists that in every
instance of conscious decision-making there is an element of “true origin”
or uncaused cause; a form of decision-making that is not entirely dictated
by history and the individual’s prior experiences.
But if entrepreneurship encompasses abstract categories of action

(action without pre-conditions), the concrete form of the firm makes

abstraction real and renders acceptable, under any number of legal
structures, the subversive. In this regard, the role of administrative and
managerial techniques is to rationalize risk; such techniques are specific
approaches to integrating risk into the established order.
The Usefulness of Entrepreneurial Subversion
While no one living in a society characterized by a market-led system of

production will be surprised by the concept of free action, such action is
nevertheless triggered by a causality with no other cause than that initi-
ated by the free will of an individual. This action, and this idea of action,
constitutes a kind of subversion by virtue of the very fact that it represents
a break with the natural course of ordinary life, creating a rupture with the
established order and with constituted values.
In and of itself, the invention and use of the mobile phone cannot be
considered subversive. But imagine if someone had the idea of phoning
people in public (as opposed to private) places, in nomadic (as opposed to
sedentary) places, thus introducing a rupture with the ordinary course of
things as they had existed since the introduction of the landline telephone.
The rupture concerns both the purpose and use and the realization of
an idea which could have remained the mere whim of a mad inventor,
wanting to transform the world to mirror his or her desires. For the idea to
become reality, a person or group of people had to overcome the obstacles
associated not only with the representation of a set of practices (involving
communication and, more specifically, communication by telephone), but
also the representation of a consumer object and of its uses. Consequently,
that group of people would have to persuade the market about the feasibil-
ity of the idea. Thus, while the importance of setting up a chain of produc-
tion with its attendant suppliers should not be underestimated, it would
serve little or no purpose without the implementation of distribution
networks and the organization of a strategy of communication and public-
ity to promote the new object. If, today, the usefulness of mobile phones
seems obvious, when they first burst onto the scene they were frequently
regarded as a novelty rather than a necessity. But the development of the
global market and of technology serving its communication needs demon-
strated the usefulness and, indeed, the necessity of the mobile phone.
Another characteristic of the entrepreneur is precisely the capacity to
overcome a series of obstacles while at the same time employing what
Schumpeter terms “creative destruction”, a type of creation that serves
as a driver for innovation. Schumpeter’s theory of economic evolution
casts the entrepreneur as a figure who effects a synthesis between design

and creation activities. Unlike the artist, the entrepreneur is not an inven-
tor, but, rather, the person who channels inventions, has them produced
and distributes them while, most of the time at least, running counter to
market expectations. ‘It is not enough merely to produce soap; you also
have to convince people to wash’, Schumpeter wrote in 1939 in Business
Cycles. The figure of the entrepreneur is assimilated to that of the creator
by the radical nature of an act which, according to Schumpeter, is due
to its capacity to produce subversive combinations. Much more than
new products or machines, it is new productive combinations – material,
financial, organizational and social – that dictate, over the long term, the
transformations of the economic system in which we live. It is for this
reason that technological progress is incarnated less in the role of capital
and more in the figure of the entrepreneur. One of the best examples of the
process of “productive combination” is provided by Henry Ford. Ford
became an entrepreneur in 1906 at the age of forty-three. Previously, he
had been the head of an independent company. In 1909, more than three
years after becoming an entrepreneur, he began to produce his famous
Model T. And Ford became “Fordist” when he succeeded in combining a
production line technique with an industrial policy based on the principle
of a progressive decrease in prices. But in order to do so, he first had to
confront the uncertainty inherent in the introduction of his product to the
market.
For Schumpeter, the “subversive” character of the entrepreneurial
act depends upon the entrepreneur’s capacity to break with the existing
social order within a market by introducing an invention and producing
risk and uncertainty. In brief, Schumpeter replaces the emblematic image
of the greedy and exploitative capitalist entrepreneur with a complex
dynamic in which the entrepreneur-innovator becomes a lynchpin of
technological progress; the kingpin of the capitalist system of generating
wealth. However, although Schumpeter recognizes this subversive func-
tion, he does not cast the entrepreneur as an angelic figure whose resist-
ance to the established order renders him a romantic opponent of the
market. Even artists can no longer be characterized entirely in such a way.
Entrepreneurs are not motivated simply by greed; they also need to focus
on the commercial aspects of their activity. Indeed, artists can be said to be
moving in the same direction. However, a distinction can be made between
the kind of subversive strategies practiced by entrepreneurs and artists in
that, by overcoming a number of obstacles in order to successfully intro-
duce their products and/or services, entrepreneurs profit from the market.
All things considered, it could be said that the action of the entrepreneur
is at once creative and destructive. It is creative in that it is the source of
a dynamic of innovation and positive growth, and it is destructive in that

it is also at the origin of negative growth (with positive economic effects

counterpointed by environmental and social effects). On the one hand,
there exists an entrepreneurial capacity associated with creation to the
extent that it is based on an act, or series of acts, bereft of pre-conditions.
On the other, in spite of its radical nature an entrepreneurial capacity
essentially targets economic and commercial utility, which can be framed
in terms of innovative creativity (rather than creation). For entrepreneurs
the firm is, in many cases, merely a vehicle for delivering products and
services. In this respect, it is no more than an instrument for realizing
dreams and ambitions that are more than just commercial: “to create a
better life for people”, “to see what this technology could mean for the
transportation of people”, and so on. From this perspective, the firm in
this capacity can be seen as a way of organizing necessary activities that
are particularly difficult for others to grasp or believe in (Zander, 2007).
Is this one of the reasons why contemporary artists (1960 to the present)
are particularly interested in business? In what ways are artists concerned
with the entrepreneurial model? Is business the most appropriate form of
action for the production of the new?
THE ARTIST AND THE FIRM
The ongoing internationalization of the art world – the increasing number

of contemporary art fairs, biennales and exhibition facilities throughout
the world – not only has the effect of boosting the number of players in the
international art market (with, for example, the appearance of countries
such as China, South Korea, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates) but
also of exposing artists to new demands. Due to the increased work load
that this process has created (in terms of logistics, organization, and media
and public relations), as well as to competition with their peers – although
some of them favour collaboration over rivalry – some artists have had
to take recourse to commercial structures which are recognized in the art
market and whose modes of organization and accounting techniques are
similar to those of companies in other sectors of the economy. Competing
in the same market, a number of artists have indeed set up their own firms.
Artists who have chosen to set up their own businesses are not funda-
mentally different from entrepreneurs. In order to develop their projects,
artists need to deal with various businesses supplying the technical means
of production for their work. Being able to deal with those businesses on
an equal footing – in a business-to-business framework – is clearly advan-
tageous. The process of setting up own businesses also facilitates artists’
partnerships with financiers and banks. Such artists integrate the kind of

entrepreneurial capacity which consists of overcoming various obstacles.

After all, it is not enough to merely produce works of art, the public also
has to be able and encouraged to buy them.
But does this mean that, by adopting entrepreneurial styles of behav-
iour, these artists are sacrificing the radicality of non-utilitarian creation
on the altar of utilitarian creativity? Do they become the producers of
a “business art” (Rouillé, 2008) which focuses more on exploiting the
market than on asserting the radicality of free action? If ‘the reality of
economics has entered the art world and made its way into the aesthetic
sphere’ (Barrientos in Toma, 2008: 145), by rationalizing risk, does the
“business” approach water down the role of creation in creativity?
The increasing interest among artists in the economic sphere manifests
itself in various ways, including artistic representations of certain eco-
nomic phenomena, reinventions of the activities of the firm, or of obser-
vations of the world of work. The attention paid by artists to economic
phenomena and more particularly their primary form, the firm itself,
can be schematized by means of the typology suggested in Figure 3.5. At
least three attitudes are adopted by artists to action of an entrepreneurial
nature: (1) the utilitarian artist who instrumentalizes the firm to develop
his or her work; (2) the business artist who uses the firm as a form of art
(in a mimetic, analytical or critical way); and (3) the artist who develops a
critical stance in regard to the worlds of the economy, work and business.
The Instrumentalist Artist or the Firm Instrumentalized by Art
Instrumentalist artists use entrepreneurship to further their own ends,

even if their work has no essential and necessary link with representations
of the economic sphere or with any particular system of production. Their
work questions its contemporaries but the representation of the contem-
porary is not necessarily effected through a representation of the economy.
Instrumentalist artists set up commercial partnerships or limited liability
companies because those legal frameworks are, in their opinion, the most
appropriate when it comes to furthering and promoting their work. An
artist like Jeff Koons employs an entrepreneurial approach to developing
and promoting his creative work. For Koons, it is not a question of imitat-
ing the approach of an entrepreneur but of using the resources provided
by a particular legal and fiscal status not only to maximize efficiency but
also, and simultaneously, to increase profits. Here, the firm is a ‘pragmatic
solution [ . . . ] in which aesthetic and economic questions are dealt with
separately’ (Barrientos in Toma, 2008). The firm notably provides the
artist with a legal framework in which to remunerate his or her collabora-
tors (Figure 3.6).

Framework Form Posture
M2508 - SCHERDIN PRINT.indd 37

Firms as tool
Juridic, accounting,
commerical, organization Instrumentalist Artist AND
du travail, artist entrepreneur
commercialization
de l’oeuvre
ARTISTS Firms as the work itself

Artist AS
AND Mimetic, analytical, Business artist
37
ambivalent
entrepreneur
FIRMS
Firms as subject of the works Artist AS

Critical artist
Critical, analytical artist
Figure 3.5 Typology of the relationship between artists and firms
26/01/2011 11:15
jeff koons production inc jobs
1-11 of 11 results. Page 1 of 1.
sorted by: salary, company name, job title, date
Graphic Designer Jeff Koons Productions Inc $40,000 New York, NY (09/2004) >>
Graphic Designer Jeff Koons Productions Inc $40,000 New York, NY (03/2005) >>
master sculptor jeff koons productions inc $35,714 new york, ny (08/2002) >>
MASTER JEFF KOONS PRODUCTIONS $32,760 NEW YORK, NY (09/2004)
SCULPTOR INC >>
Master Sculptor JEFF KOONS PRODUCTIONS $47,279 New York, NY (09/2004) >>
INC
MASTER JEFF KOONS PRODUCTIONS $47,279 NEW YORK, NY (03/2005)
SCULPTOR INC >>
Scientific Jeff Koons Productions Inc $33,800 New York, NY (05/2003) >>
Technician
Technician
Technician
Technician
SCULPTOR JEFF KOONS PRODUCTIONS $50,627 NEW YORK, NY (08/2005)
INC >>
Source: Jobs-salary.com 29.10.2008.

http://www.jobs-salary.com/salary-of-jeff-koons-productions-inc.htm
Figure 3.6 Jobs salary table for Jeff Koons Productions Inc.
The Business Artist
As artists gradually adopt not only the same kind of legal frameworks as
entrepreneurs do but also the same operational approaches, the distinc-
tion between artistic and entrepreneurial creation becomes increasingly
blurred. When the framework in which activities are undertaken and the
object of the work of art coincide, when artists mimic an entrepreneurial
form of unconditioned action, when they produce works of art which are
identical to banal commercial products, can the work of business artists be
thought of as radically different from any given entrepreneur operating in
any given market?
Business artists who set up companies do so to develop their ‘artistic
activity in real life, amongst the ordinary activities’ (Baxter in Toma,
2008). They ‘refuse to hive off their artistic production to a field separate
from the general economy’ (Huitorel, 2008: 43) and attempt to attain

independence from the structures of the art market. It is less a question

of earning more money – although this does enter the equation – and
more a question of finding new and more efficient ways of promoting and
diffusing work and discovering outlets outside the traditional art market.
‘Some fifty years ago, hybrid entities began to appear, created as “com-
panies” or “firms”, all the while establishing their presence in the artistic
milieu and their attachment to the aesthetic experience’ (Barrientos
in Toma, 2008: 145). Iain Baxter, who founded N.E. Thing & Co in
Vancouver in 1966, explains that he was quick to pick up on ‘how much
more effective brand names are than personal names in terms of combin-
ing entrepreneurial logic and social life’ (Baxter in Toma, 2008). Other
examples include Matthieu Laurette’s Laurette Bank Unlimited (1999),
and Fabrice Hyber’s Hybertmarché (1995). In 2008, Jean-Marc Huitorel
pointed out that over one hundred companies founded by artists have
been listed (see Barrientos’ repertory in Toma, 2008), including Ingold
Airlines, a fictitious air transport firm offering all the services of a real
company, set up by Res Ingold in 1982, and Benjamin Sabatier’s inter-
national firm, IBK – a specific reference to the acronym (International
Klein Blue) – which celebrates the shade of blue patented by Yves Klein.
The Iranian artist Chohreh Feyzdjou markets her work using the slogan
“Products of Chohreh Feyzdjou”, while the micro-firm Minerva Cuevas
(M.V.C.) is dedicated to designing, producing and distributing products
and services the purpose of which is to improve the quality of life (Toma,
2008). Artists like Sylvain Soussan and Christine Hill can be considered as
working in the same vein.
A number of these firms copy “traditional” companies extremely
closely, others ‘operate as global systems and like structures installed in
time’ (Toma, 2008). They mirror phenomena, practices, deviances, and
excesses in the economic world. However, the borders between imitation,
fascination and criticism are, as the work of Takashi Murakami demon-
strates, extremely porous. Takashi Murakami, founder of Kaikai Kiki
Co. Ltd, is a prime example of a highly successful business artist. In an
interview with Art Review published in 2007, he explained that one of his
aims was ‘to find out how to survive in the art market, to find out how it
works.’ Murakami produces resin sculptures, giant blow-up balloons and
performance art, as well as watches, t-shirts and other products as part of
a diversification or risk-management strategy. Murakami has also sold a
license to the brand Louis Vuitton for which he created a limited edition
series.
Many business artists claim to adopt a critical posture vis-à-vis the busi-
ness world and attempt to create alternative solutions by offering products
or services that traditional firms cannot or will not supply. Some artists

choose to use sabotage as a way of working, consistently producing errors

with a view to destabilizing the system and highlighting its inherent prob-
lems (anti-services, anti-products). The business artist thus uses the firm
as a critical tool of the economic world in order to offer an alternative dis-
course. Works produced by artist firms are direct critiques of the economic
world which often take the form of theatricalized, narrative performances.
The vocabulary of the firm, its organization, protocols and modes of func-
tioning are re-examined and re-cast in aesthetic, social and political terms.
Yann Toma was the man behind the legal rebirth of Ouest-Lumière,
a real, private electricity production and distribution company bought
out by Electricité de France (EDF) after the Second World War and
gradually dismantled. The official statutes of the reactivated firm define
its raison d’être: ‘The object of the company: to exploit applications of
artistic energy in all its forms, in France and abroad, notably in the West
Paris region [. . .]; to set up, purchase, and run factories producing artistic
energy; and to organize the distribution, sale and local installation of the
artistic current to light and provide motor force for all other applications
of articity’ (Toma, 2004: 20). The humoristic and subversive poetic of the
statutes parodies the impersonal rigour of the language traditionally used
in such documents. The statutes serve as a manifesto for Ouest-Lumière
which the artist uses as a vehicle to ‘question the firm about its roots in the
activities it carried out in the past.’ By working on the memories of the firm
and creating new ones (Figure 3.7), Toma converts the archives of Ouest-
Lumière into “artistic energy”. It is a ‘way for the artist to [. . .] deconstruct
an ensemble of relationships and economic structures’ (Huitorel, 2008:
90), a way of reminding people that firms not only create value but also
produce networks between human beings, with all the “passions” that it
implies. Toma’s critical company functions as a deconstruction of the firm
in general and applies to the firm the same kind of “creative destruction”
that characterizes the entrepreneur.
Another example is provided by the artist Pieter Engels who sells
anti-services and anti-products at the same price as the originals; chairs
destroyed and randomly reassembled figure on his (anti-)product range
(Huitorel, 2008: 96). The approach is similar to that of Marcel Duchamp
in that it radically transforms a utilitarian object into a useless one. The
purity of Duchamp’s gesture is, however, rendered more complex by
means of an operation of “creative destruction” which is not nearly as
absurd as it seems. Engels uses this approach to question the meaning of
industrial production. What do we produce and why? How do we produce
it? What do concepts such as “total quality” mean? Making such products
in a firm gives them a greater critical impact.
The artist Bernard Brunon paints buildings. He considers the job an

Figure 3.7 Yann Toma, Indian Ouest-Lumière Agency Advertising

Campaign. Twenty painted billboards displayed for a three
year period in Neemrana, Rajasthan, 2006 © Y. Toma
artistic one. Now based in Los Angeles, his company That’s Painting
Productions provides the same kind of services as any other painting
company. His invoices serve as certificates of authenticity for his works
of art. The company motto – “With less to look at, there’s more to think
about” – underlines the particularly conceptual nature of an artistic pro-
duction which may sometimes even escape notice, so porous is the frontier
between art and reality in this context. Nevertheless, Brunon’s work could
be said to be firmly in the tradition of the monochrome in art history. In
this regard, the monochromes of Yves Klein, who patented the colour
“International Klein Blue” (“IKB”) should certainly receive a mention.
Bernard Brunon’s contribution to the first Rennes Art Biennale (“Les
ateliers de Rennes”) is a key to understanding his work. Brunon painted
white the vertical elements of the south-facing façade of a building belong-
ing to the university (Figure 3.8). He then used very bright colours to paint
the sides of the horizontal structural elements, the surfaces of which are
not visible from the ground. All that can be seen are the reflections of these
intense colours on the surrounding white surfaces. The process of painting
a building thus becomes every bit as artistic as the abstract canvas of a

Figure 3.8 Bernard Brunon, University of Rennes 2, Library, south

façade, May 2008 © B. Brunon
master. Brunon brings to the process a conceptual subtlety and a quality
of finish and execution previously reserved to other domains. The fact that
the symbolic tenor of the work is minimal enables us to ask more wide-
ranging questions – both within and outside the field of creation – about
the act of painting. Painting, even painting buildings, is a cultural practice.
Why do painting companies exist? Why do we cover surfaces with colours?
This type of reasoning may seem absurd but it is increasingly employed in
R&D departments. For example, BMW recently questioned the concept of
car bodies – what purpose does a body serve? – and came up with a concept
car (the GINA Light Visionary Model) covered in a textile fabric skin.
But in most cases, Bernard Brunon’s artistic activities undermine the
notion of the uselessness of creation by highlighting the usefulness of
creativity. But herein lies the crux of the issue: do artists, by appropriating
the concept of business in order to create, run the risk of losing sight of
the specific nature of creation? It is thus legitimate to ask whether business
artists who found companies by subverting the concept of the firm run the
risk of losing sight of the specificity of creation?
Set up in 1993 in Switzerland by Rasmus Nielsen, Jakob Fenger and
Bjørnstjerne Christiansen, Superflex presents itself not merely as a firm
but as a conglomerate made up of a number of different companies.
Within this conglomerate, the Supergas firms work to develop a system

Figure 3.9 Julien Prévieux, Letters of non-motivation, 2004 © J. Prévieux
for producing ecological energy for developing countries. Like Supergas,

Superflex’s many companies are thought of as “tools” since, in this
context, art is considered a tool at the service of human beings. Superflex’s
artistic activity is thus designed to be useful: ‘Superflex intervenes [. . . ]
wherever there is a call for a “counter-economic” solution.’
Does creation lie here in the technological and economical challenges of
Supergas, as the radicalism of an act that is subversive by its very capacity
to transform productive combinations? Superflex’s motto – ‘Every human
being is a potential entrepreneur’ – is a distant echo of the slogan launched
by Joseph Beuys in 1972: ‘All men are artists’. Do certain artists regard
the figure of the entrepreneur as having replaced that of the artist? Do we
have to turn to Schumpeter in order to understand new kinds of artistic
behaviour and new meanings of the term “creation”?
The Critical Artist
Critical artists reflect on the firm and question the activities it produces,
they do not launch any company. One of the most amusing illustrations of
critical art is provided by Julien Prévieux. The work of this artist presents a
critique of the capitalist system of production and, consequently, displays
a fascination with the workings of shareholder capital.
In his Letters of non-motivation (Figure 3.9), Julien Prévieux replies to
a series of job adverts. Each work is displayed as a triptych framing the
job advert, Julien Prévieux’s non-motivation letter and the response of the
recruiting company. While respecting the formal codes of the genre, he

turns the tables by analysing the jobs on offer, deconstructing the adverts
to reveal the formalism underlying business communication strategies. The
artist submits the adverts to literary analysis. Taking metaphors at face
value, he dissects the euphemisms, clichés and hyperboles of a hollow rhet-
oric, corrects spelling mistakes and syntactical errors, and lists his reasons
for turning down the jobs offered. In a generally familiar tone, Prévieux
addresses the employer as if the job adverts were specifically directed at
him, knowing that most firms reply using form letters which clearly take
no account of the candidate to whom they are addressed, thereby accen-
tuating the formalism of a dialogue of the deaf, an artificial and relatively
meaningless process of communication. But Prévieux’s letters of non-
motivation also unveil the real people hidden behind corporate functions.
A human resources director takes the trouble to reply point by point to the
artist, defending the logic of the advert drawn up by her department.
YOU ARE UNDER 26

And you want to . . . BE SUCCESSFUL
At the end of a 6 or 9 month Qualification Contract in one of our training
centres (with a salary of 65% of minimum wage in all cases) we will offer you a
job in the region of your choice.
YOU CHOOSE YOUR SPECIALIZATION, WE PROVIDE THE
TRAINING
If you are under 26 and have graduated from high school and/or completed up
to two years of further education studies, you can rapidly become a
DO-IT-YOURSELF SECTION MANAGER
FOOD SECTION MANAGER
CHECK OUT/ITEM FILE MANAGER
BOOKKEEPER
Please send a job candidate file (CV + letter of motivation + photo) to
EFFCAD – 50, avenue Georges Boillot – 91310 Linas
Tel.: 01 69 80 33 07
Email.: bvilmain@mousquetaires.com Les Mousquetaires
Julien Prévieux
11, avenue Gambetta
75020 Paris
EFFCAD, 50, avenue Georges Boillot, 91310 Linas
Subject: Job opportunity
March 14, 2004
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing in regard to your advertisement in Le marché du travail [“The Job
Market”]. It is my impression that you made a mistake in drawing up the job
offer. “You want to . . . be successful” – and earn 65% of minimum wage for

between 6 and 9 months. I am unable to grasp the cause and effect relationship
between an apparently unbounded desire to succeed and such a small salary. A
typo must have crept into the text somewhere, unless, in fact, the point of such
a minuscule salary is to encourage employees to quit their jobs immediately.
In that case, it is likely that potential candidates will choose to contact your
competitors before getting in touch with your firm. Meanwhile, I hereby decline
your proposition and would kindly request that you try to avoid these kinds of
errors in the future.
Kindest regards
Julien Prévieux
LES MOUSQUETAIRES
TRAIN TO WIN
Julien Prévieux
11 avenue Gambetta
75020 Paris
Montlhéry, March 19, 2004
Dear Sir,
Thank you for having read our advertisement in Le marché du travail [“The Job
Market”] so carefully.
However, I believe that you have failed to understand the objective of the
advert and the public at which it is aimed.
In effect, the advertisement does not encourage people currently in employment
to give up their jobs; instead, it targets young people with little or no work expe-
rience looking for a job who, after fulfilling a short (6–9 month) Qualification
Contract, can access a career path with an evolutive long-term contract.
One thing is certain, even if the potential candidates of whom you write contact
our competitors, they will not be paid a higher salary, since 65% of minimum
wage is the rate defined by the State for all Qualification Contracts.
The advantage we offer is that potential candidates will be paid at a rate of 65%
of minimum wage for a period not exceeding 9 months, whereas, in other com-
panies, such candidates will be paid at that rate for at least a year.
I have noted that you will not be pursuing this job opportunity; nevertheless,
I regret to inform you that you will have occasion to read the same kind of
advertisements in the future.
Kindest regards
Sandrine LINCE
Assistant Director
EFFCAD
50, avenue Georges Boillot – 91310 Linas
Tel.: 01 69 80 32 97 – Fax.: 01 69 80 32 96
Siret: 379 400 773 000 30 – Code APF 804 C

We have identified three types of artists and attitudes: (1) the instrumen-
talist artist who instrumentalizes the firm to develop his or her work; (2)
the business artist who makes art out of the firm; and (3) the artist who
develops a critical stance in regard to the worlds of the economy, work
and business. Our typology of relations between artists and entrepreneurs
reveals a number of inter-penetrations of various categories of action,
motivation and intention, and sometimes even postmodern interferences
between different registers of action and their objectives. While the real
similarity between artistic creation and entrepreneurial creation resides in
the radicality of an act without preconditions, some contemporary artists
instrumentalize the firm or appropriate it as their oeuvre, thus mirror-
ing the entrepreneur’s search for usefulness. Doesn’t Takashi Murakami
exploit the market in the same way as any entrepreneur? And isn’t Bernard
Brunon’s artistic activity informed by the usefulness underpinning the
Superflex project? This begs the question as to whether, by subverting the
concept of business in order to create, artists run the risk of losing sight of
the specific nature of creation? In other words, beyond the act which insti-
tutes it, can the firm be used to express an authentic radicality – a radical-
ity that implies a critical stance to or within the market? Is it possible to use
the firm to develop this radical act? That, in any case, is what Jeff Koons
is trying to do. And, despite being more ambiguous, the approaches taken
by Yann Toma, Pieter Engels and Philippe Mairesse also follow the same
objective. Other artists interrogate the worlds of economics, work and
business without setting up their own firm. They attempt to occupy the
place of a third party in a globalized world, or, in other words, a world
which does not produce third parties other than excluded ones. Is that the
fate that awaits them if they fail to break into the art market?
CONCLUSIONS
In the first part of the chapter we showed that the production of the
new does not have the same meaning for creative artists involved in an
endlessly renewed process as for creators who initiate a beginning (free
causality). In the second part, we attempted to understand the different
meanings attached to the production of the new by economic actors such
as entrepreneurs and by artists, actors in another type of market (the art
market). It transpires that, for entrepreneurs, the purpose of the new is to
be useful in the marketplace, while for artists the new is of value in and of
itself (which is not the case of the useful even when it is concomitant with
the new). In other words, any value attributed by the market to the new is,
from the point of view of artists, entirely accidental.

In the third part of the chapter, we examined the link, or, rather, the
Gordian knot, which in spite of distinct intentions in terms of productivity
(useful products or services on the one hand, and useful or useless works
of art on the other) binds entrepreneurs and artists. In effect, a shared
conception of action, at once subversive and disturbing, is derived from
the capacity of both entrepreneurs and artists to create the new. Real
entrepreneurs and real artists will be imbued with the kind of qualities
required for the creation of the new. In the chapter’s fourth section, we
listed, with a view to demonstrating our hypothesis, the works of contem-
porary artists – some with an established international reputation, others
emerging onto the scene – displaying an interest in, and sometimes even a
fascination with, the economic systems, the entrepreneurial dynamic, and,
more broadly, the world of work. We have elaborated an initial typology
representing the positions taken by certain contemporary artists working
either in the international art market or in a more discreet but equally
convincing manner.
Overall, we have defined a clearer view of the mechanisms underpinning
creation and creativity associated with two categories of activity – the
artistic and the entrepreneurial. Creativity can be defined as ‘the develop-
ment of ideas or products which are at once new and potentially useful’
(Binnewies, Ohly and Sonnentag, 2007: 434). The notion of creation is also
assimilated to the production of the new, the fruit of the imagination. But
it cannot be reduced to the generation of the new in a continuous, unlim-
ited movement, nor can it be reduced to the process (however dynamic)
which drives the renewal of useful consumer products and services, a
process integral to competition in the market. That is the analysis pre-
sented in this chapter. In effect, while (entrepreneurial) creation sometimes
seeks usefulness in the market (providing a product and service offer and
deriving profit from that offer), creation can remain indifferent, in terms
of its primary motivations, to the status of usefulness, or, in other words,
to the possibility of explicitly and immediately serving the needs of some-
thing or somebody. This stance finds an echo in three examples drawn
from the history of modern art: Marcel Duchamp, Constantin Brancusi
and Bertrand Lavier, all of whom have demonstrated the degree to which
art militates against the utilitarian nature of its means of production.
Nevertheless, beyond this notable difference in intentions within prac-
tices, artistic creation and entrepreneurial creation share, from our point
of view, the capacity to produce a type of action that we term, following
Kant and Shackle, free or unconditioned action. Thus, artistic creation
and entrepreneurial creation find their origins in the sphere of ‘action
without preconditions’, to use the term Kant applied to causality through
freedom. This is not to say that artists or entrepreneurs are indifferent to

the context of the action, but, in the first and last instance, the decision
to act, the decision to create outweighs the context. That is why the link
between a capacity for action, the unconditioned act, and rupture with the
ordinary course of things (in social, economic and cultural life) character-
izes what we term “creation”, as distinct from creativity.
To sum up, creation encompasses creativity and surpasses it to the
degree that its objectives are not necessarily limited to an attempt to
accumulate the new in an infinite movement, with no other motivation
than that of finding a niche in the market. Due to the fact that it creates
an unprecedented event, the capacity to act, or to consider the decision to
act as sufficient reason, constitutes a kind of subversion or radical con-
ception of action. Entrepreneurial subversion is different from its artistic
counterpart in that the entrepreneur exploits the market, while the artist
benefits from it, if at all, only by accident; hence the commercial value
of Duchamp’s L’Urinoir. Nevertheless, new practices are emerging as is
evidenced by artists like Takashi Murakami and Bernard Brunon, who
are beginning to take a more entrepreneurial attitude to the notion of
usefulness.
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1141–64.

4. Opportunity revelation: cogitative
powers of the brain
Mikael Scherdin
This chapter argues for a broadened conceptual approach to early crea-

tion processes. By using both new findings in the field of neurosciences and
a first-person case study of an artistic process, it specifically attempts to
develop new conceptual labels for artistic and entrepreneurial processes as
they unfold in the creative phases. It further illustrates how artistic insights
may be applied in the general field of entrepreneurship, and in research on
opportunity recognition processes in particular.
To develop a broadened perspective on early creation processes, the
chapter draws upon findings from the fields of neurosciences and neu-
rophilosophy, and especially the concept of cogitative powers of the brain
(Bennett and Hacker, 2003). These are powers that utilize abilities labelled
Hammerdal, Sweden
50

Opportunity revelation: cogitative powers of the brain 51
as belief, thinking, imagination, and mental images for the generation of

new and unique knowledge. Even though neurosciences and neurophi-
losophy could be argued to be a remote source for the arts and entre-
preneurship literatures, I will in due time show their relevance. I do not
have any ambitions to contribute to the development of neurosciences or
neurophilosophy, but claim that they can be used for feeding research in
the fields of art and entrepreneurship, particularly those parts concerned
with the understanding and conceptualization of early creation processes.
The chapter uses an approach of: (1) a rough overview of relevant lit-
eratures on early creation processes, all the way from entrepreneurship
research to neurosciences and neurophilosophy, combined with (2) an
illustrative case that documents the unfolding of an artistic process. The
case is an autoethnographic illustration of the appearance of an art idea
as part of a particular artistic process – a form of gradual appearance
or revelation of ideas that has not been captured by the traditional art/
entrepreneurship literature. The autoethnographic case also illustrates the
difficulty involved in catching subjectively based creation processes with
existing methodological approaches and theoretical concepts.
OPPORTUNITY RECOGNITION
There have been a great number of articles and books in the field of
entrepreneurship about early venture phases – how entrepreneurs get
their ideas, how they behave, their driving forces, how they do it, and if
they work alone or in teams. This chapter has no ambition of making a
complete historical odyssey of what has been written; rather it will focus
entirely upon early creation processes, and particularly on exploring the
opportunity recognition concept. To get a grasp of the concept of oppor-
tunity recognition, we first have to scrutinize its assumptions, to be sure of
its foundations. I will therefore browse through the underlying ideas of the
opportunity recognition concept, under the topics of: (1) objective oppor-
tunities; (2) individual differences in information and cognition; and (3)
beliefs and means–ends relationships. The section will then be summarized
with a short note on (4) opportunity recognition – the concept itself – and
close with the question (5) “do we lack something?”, before moving on to
the case and construction of an alternative conceptual framework.
Objective Opportunities
A core idea underlying the traditional concept of opportunity recogni-

tion is that “a change occurs”, which will lead to the emergence of one or

several opportunities (for example Peterson and Berger, 1971; Sine and
David, 2003). This change in itself will enable potential and alert entrepre-
neurs to “see” and act upon the new opportunities (Kirzner, 1973, 1979).
Once in existence, entrepreneurial opportunities are then “out there”,
just waiting for someone, for an entrepreneur, to exploit them. In what
has become an influential paper in the field of entrepreneurship research,
Shane and Venkataraman (2000: 220) suggest that ‘[. . .] the opportunities
themselves are objective phenomena[. . .]’.
The fundamental claim is that potentially all individuals and prospec-
tive entrepreneurs, given the right background and circumstances, can
“see” and turn an existing, objective reality into new goods and services,
in various forms of imperfect or emerging markets. The first assump-
tion underlying the concept of opportunity recognition is thus externally
induced change and belief in the existence of some kind of objective
environment and opportunities.
Individual Differences in Information and Cognition
It has generally been noted that, for various reasons, individuals differ in
their ability to become entrepreneurs. Proposed differences in the capabil-
ity to identify and act upon new opportunities include different oppor-
tunity costs, asymmetric information or “fields” of observation (Hayek,
1948; Kirzner, 1973, 1985; Shackle, 1979; Shane, 2000), and different cog-
nitive properties that impinge on opportunity recognition and evaluation
(Baron, 1998, 2006; Eckhardt and Shane, 2003).
While new opportunities may represent objective realities, these objec-
tive realities are not accessible and available to all; as individuals are differ-
ent and have different life experiences, they must also differ in their ability
to identify opportunities and perform an entrepreneurial act. Accordingly,
the second assumption underlying the opportunity recognition concept is
that individuals differ in their acquired information and cognitive skills,
and that these differences determine who will be able to spot and ulti-
mately exploit any given opportunity.
Beliefs and Means–Ends Relationships
Finally, Shane and Venkataraman (2000) claim that entrepreneurship

requires that people hold different beliefs about the value of existing
resources. And they take the argument further to claim that in the dis-
covery of entrepreneurial opportunities entrepreneurs ‘[. . .] must be able
to identify new means–ends relationships that are generated by a given
change in order to discover entrepreneurial opportunities’ (Shane and

Venkataraman, 2000: 222). These means–ends relationships would include

a conscious and more or less clearly perceived perception of a future state
of the world, as well as ideas about events and own actions that will lead
up to its realization.
Opportunity Recognition – The Concept
We finally get to the concept of opportunity recognition, which is one of

the most central concepts in early entrepreneurial processes. Opportunity
recognition, as I understand it, is a concept using a combination of exter-
nally induced change, objective opportunities that are “out there” waiting
to be discovered, individuals who differ in their ability to identify these
opportunities, as well as more or less identifiable beliefs and means–ends
relationships used for actively turning any particular opportunity into an
already pre-existing reality. There is certainly variation around this theme,
but these basic points would be the cornerstones of what may be dubbed
the received view of opportunity recognition in the entrepreneurship
literature.1
Do We Lack Something?
Having briefly outlined the concept of opportunity recognition and its

fundamental assumptions, from an artist’s perspective I must admit that
there seems to be something missing. What about “an emerging urge to
do something”, “fuzzy ideas”, “a direction rather than a clear idea”, “a
hunch”, or “doing without knowing” – do those phenomena fit into the
traditional concept of opportunity recognition? Hardly, so let us take
a step back and see what recent findings in other fields may add to and
change existing conceptualizations in entrepreneurial research. We will
then see that some of the traditional assumptions underlying opportunity
recognition are too narrow to account for the full scope of opportunity
recognition processes. We particularly want to go through recent insights
from neurosciences and claims in neurophilosophy, and use them to gener-
ate an alternative conceptualization of opportunity recognition, one that
could be more useful for describing particular forms of artistic and entre-
preneurial action. It will be a start in trying to develop a new conceptual
thread, of equal use in the early creative processes of artistic and entrepre-
neurial action, or any other creative act for that matter.
This attempt has three main parts: (1) re-orientation – the develop-
ment of an alternative approach and a rough conceptual framework; (2)
an autoethnographic case and illustration of a creative artistic process;
and (3) discussion proposing a revision or extension of the traditional

opportunity recognition concept. The ultimate aim is to indicate a new

path for entrepreneurship research, which naturally includes a more realis-
tic understanding of how artists and arguably also some entrepreneurs act
in their early creation processes. Hopefully, we could use these insights to
infuse new ideas into both practice-based and entrepreneurship research,
and add to current views on the artist and the entrepreneur.
RE-ORIENTATION – AN ALTERNATIVE APPROACH

AND ROUGH CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK
In this section I will attempt a re-orientation, to enable the inclusion

of some artistic and entrepreneurial elements which have been largely
excluded from the traditional opportunity recognition concept. These
are elements that should be included in the nucleus of artistic and entre-
preneurial action, instead of being squeezed into old and perhaps not so
fruitful conceptual frames (Scherdin, 2008).
To some degree, prior research has tried to handle or even use concepts
labelled “creativity”, “alertness”, “playfulness”, “inspiration”, “original-
ity”, and “imagination”, in search of the essence of artistry and entrepre-
neurship. But it has been difficult to anchor them in a proper way. I am
here trying to pave a new way to address these issues simply because I think
it is wiser to start the construction of an alternative understanding rather
than to squeeze some facts and observations into frameworks where they
do not necessarily fit. This alternative understanding specifically questions
the universal influences from external events on individual thought and
action, and also ascribes much greater importance to subjectivity and sub-
jective experiences in the discovery of new ideas and opportunities.
Subjectivity of the Mind/Brain2
Creators such as artists and entrepreneurs use their mind/brain (as all of
us do), which has a first person ontology (Searle, 2000), is epistemically
private (Crick, 1995), and has a certain feeling (qualia) attached to it
(Nagel, 1974; Chalmers, 1996). In other words, one can say that initially
and essentially, artists and entrepreneurs act upon a subjective world view
(Scherdin and Zander, 2008). These are facts that traditionally have been
handled by avoiding them, neglecting them, or simply by starting research
at a late stage in the development of ideas, when the creative and subjec-
tive act has already been turned into a finished piece – an art object, a new
company, or an existing social network of some kind – to be studied with
more traditional and seemingly comfortable theories and methods.

To make a start in the subjective has some historical theoretical difficul-

ties attached to it. But does a start in the individual, the private and the
subjective mean that we are beyond what science can reach? Yes, perhaps.
Churchland (1986: 315) notes that: ‘Subjective experience, consciousness,
reasoning, and even visual illusions are sometimes argued to be forever
beyond the explanatory reach of neuroscience [. . .]’, but expresses hope for
the future through continued neuroscientific research. Others have empha-
sized that if we try to look into subjective experience through introspection,
we could or are likely to be deceived (Crick, 1979). Even so, what prevents
us from trying, perhaps not with immediate or full explanation in focus? We
know that every function of the brain cannot be explained by reducing or
measuring it in terms of physical processes, all the way down to the trans-
mission of chemical substances, but nothing says that we have to lie down
flat for another century waiting for the emergence of perfect explanations.
We cannot explain, but we can make some first attempts at understanding.
In this endeavour, we need to make a careful distinction between
explanation and understanding, because they are two fundamentally dif-
ferent things (Wright, 1971). Neuroscientists are trying to explain things,
whereas philosophers in the field are trying to use already scientifically
derived facts for gaining a better sense for and a wider understanding
of things, even though everything, as of yet, has not been 100 per cent
explained. The following sections primarily draw and expand upon the
understanding reached by neurophilosophers, and secondly and occasion-
ally use hard facts directly from neurosciences, developing some partly
new understandings and partly basic explanations for how some new
opportunities may be perceived and developed.
Even if processes of the brain cannot be fully explained in strict terms,
we can already now use some powerful concepts for understanding crea-
tive processes in art and entrepreneurship. Specifically, neurophilosophers
have gained fundamental and detailed insights into how the brain works
(in any event compared to researchers in art and social sciences), and some
have come to suggest a dichotomy between cognitive powers of the brain
and cogitative powers of the brain (Bennett and Hacker, 2003). Surely,
many have heard about cognitive powers but may not have come across
the concept of cogitative powers. The difference is simple (exact definitions
and frameworks will be presented below): cognitive powers of the brain
are using perception and sensations as primary sources for generating
knowledge and (new) memory. Cogitative powers of the brain are using
knowledge and memories as the generative base, but add abilities labelled
as belief, thinking, imagination and mental images. In other words, the
cognitive power base is accompanied by the more broadly perceived
cogitative power base of the brain.

Cognitive Powers of the Brain
Going beyond this first rudimentary orientation, we need to get into

some of the details of the first of the two concepts – cognitive powers of
the brain – as it is part of the cogitative powers that will be addressed
presently. First, cognitive powers as a concept is primarily developed
from scientific findings about the neuroprocesses of the brain. It is based
on the use of perception and sensations as primary sources of knowledge
and memory,3 and represents the fundamental base for the cognitive
sciences, which in turn have nurtured social science in general. Well-
established theoretical areas that draw upon cognition include manage-
ment studies, organizational studies, and entrepreneurial studies, as well
as specific theoretical concepts within certain areas, like opportunity
recognition.
Second, the cognitive powers of the brain are using sensations, per-
ceptions, and memories in all their forms for generating knowledge (and
ultimately also new memories) about the world. The source of their
dynamics is an impulse from “the outside”, which through perception and
in-duction alters previous memories and knowledge. ‘Our perception – our
perceiving whatever it is we perceive – does not take place in our heads,
but takes place wherever and when we perceive what we perceive’ (Bennett
and Hacker, 2003: 128). Classic descriptions and characterizations of
the entrepreneur as a “creative destructor” (Schumpeter, 1934) or “alert”
individual (Kirzner, 1979, 2009), and more recently the discussion around
opportunity recognition (Shane and Venkataraman, 2000), are all attempts
to conceptualize and explain entrepreneurial processes in different parts,
but they are all based on cognitive powers of the brain. Cognitive powers
are all fed by external impulses from something “out there”, and this is the
primary source and generator of new ideas. In the following, however, the
struggle is to get a bit further in understanding the early creative phases
and processes of an artist/entrepreneur, and these processes may rely upon
a fundamentally different dynamic.
Cogitative Powers of the Brain
Besides having and using knowledge and memories as a generative base

for new ideas, the cogitative powers of the brain add abilities labelled as
belief, thinking, imagination and mental images for generating and for-
mulating new (unique) knowledge (Bennett and Hacker, 2003). Whereas
in cognitive powers of the brain the dynamic impulse is induced from “the
outside”, one can say that dynamic impulses for the cogitative powers of
the brain are mainly generated from the “inside”. For the purposes of this

chapter we will focus on imagination and mental images, and also touch
upon belief in the development of new knowledge.
The cogitative powers of the brain are much less explored than cognitive
powers and cognition, but give the individual freedom to ‘[. . .] think of
ingenious, unusual, detailed, hitherto undreamt of possibilities’ (Bennett
and Hacker, 2003: 183). They include reasoning, or the logical and analyti-
cal processing that in the face of explicit decision problems is sometimes
equated with rationality or optimality, but also the individual’s playful
engagement in thought experiments, imagination, or fantasies about what
might be (Aldrich and Martinez, 2003). They ultimately open up the pos-
sibility that individuals, without any prior cause and without any prior
constraints, are capable of making truly uncaused and voluntary decisions
that result in action (Churchland, 2002; Hacker, 2007).
An important part of cogitative powers concerns imagination and
mental images, which are perhaps the most interesting activities and
aspects of the brain directly associated with artistic, intellectual creativity,
originality, insight, and the ability to deviate from stock solutions. One
can say that ‘[. . .] powerful imagination is not the ability to conjure up
vivid mental images, but rather the ability to think of ingenious, unusual,
detailed, hitherto undreamt of possibilities’ (Bennett and Hacker 2003:
183). The fundamental point is that the real power of imagination is when
the mental images have a touch of deviation from the ordinary, have a
scent of being a bit “off” the ordinary tracks (cf. the Frankelius chapter
in this volume). The real skill of an artist or entrepreneur is then turning
that specific sensation of being off the ordinary track into an astonishing
art piece, innovation, or new product or service. In a way, mental images,
imagination, and attempted execution make perfect sense in the realm of
creativity. Ideas, potential artworks and brilliant ideas turn up constantly
(as mental images), we talk about them constantly, and the mental images
one conjures up seem beautiful and doable, but they are perhaps far from
that beautiful or fantastic when attempts are made to turn those “devia-
tions” into reality.
Imagination tends to be loosely coupled to previously gained knowl-
edge, perception, and inherent memories, and is mainly a process of
internal contemplation using loose connections to cognitive abilities. So
far, so good – but can we trust those internal processes? Indeed, there are
some troublesome facts associated with using internally generated ways
of reasoning, nicely put by Crick (1995: 31): ‘What you see is not what is
really there; it is what your brain believes is there.’ We are consequently
returning to the problem of objectivity, if the purpose of the reasoning and
working with mental images through a process of imagination is to present
something objective. As an illustration, it could no doubt be a problem if,

for instance, the judge in a court room asks you as a witness what really
happened on a crime scene. In that situation, there is a potential episte-
mological problem of describing what took place, and accurate recall and
descriptions of objective reality are of the essence.
In the case of artistry and entrepreneurship, however, I would say it
is another cup of tea. On the contrary, I claim that the demand for a
correct retrieval of one’s memory at a particular time is not crucial; a
misperception of what an object truly is, what a flickering image on the
TV screen really shows, is quite uninteresting. I would even claim that
a misunderstanding, misperception, or misinterpretation could repre-
sent a point of departure for the next idea deviating from the ordinary.
Misunderstandings, misperceptions, and falsely retrieved memories could
be sparkling starting points for artistic and entrepreneurial acts. Perhaps it
could be said that they are a breeding spot or rough conceptual framework
that nurtures “fantasia”.
In the common and spontaneous vocabulary used by artists “to have an
unclear and fuzzy idea but believe in it”, that ideas “arrive”, “get stuck”
or “want to be developed”, suddenly make sense when we take cogitative
powers of the brain into consideration. They are connected to a kind of
“stickiness of ideas”, if you so wish, which is well-known among practicing
artists, but appears strange to the scientific community with its traditional
description of creation processes (Scherdin, 2008). The remainder of
this chapter sees the fuzziness, the unclear image, misunderstanding and
misperceptions as a natural aspect of the emergence of new ideas, using a
wider conceptual framework than that represented by cognitive processes
alone. In the next section, and following a brief methodological note, I
continue with an illustration of an artistic process, using autoethnography
to illustrate the nature and workings of the cogitative powers of the brain
and to pass this understanding on to the reader.
METHOD
Autoethnography as it is applied in the present study uses the strength of

the researcher as being “one” with the studied object and therefore being
able to develop a unique understanding of a particular phenomenon. It
allows for the examination of phenomena that would be very hard to
reveal with other methods, and in the present case has been applied to
uncover the unfolding of a creative artistic process.
The autoethnographic method is well established and used in certain
scientific areas and finds its roots in ethnographic methods (Geertz, 1976;
Emerson, Fretz and Shaw, 1995; Roth, 2005). It is based on grounded

stories close to the narrator, where the narrator is ‘identical to the case’,
as in David Hayano’s (1979) famous description of his life as a poker
player. To put it simply, the autoethnographic way of working contains
two intertwined parts: a mix between autobiography (self) and eth-
nography (culture). Autoethnography is usually written in first-person
voice, with texts appearing in a variety of forms – short stories, poetry,
novels and personal essays. They often showcase concrete actions, dia-
logue, emotions, embodiment, spirituality, and self-consciousness, in
an attempt to demonstrate the lived experience of the authors and their
people to an outside audience (Ellis, 2004). Autoethnography has been
developed by scientists conducting studies in the crossroads of poetry,
jazz, image, performance and autoethnography (Ellis, 2004; Scherdin,
2007). Autoethnographic studies in combination with image (Saava and
Nuutinen, 2003), film (Barone, 2003), teaching and artistry (Slattery,
2001) and autobiographical performance (Alexander, 2000) have devel-
oped the method.
The autoethnographic approach makes a distinct point of adopting a
subjective approach to data collection and theory construction, and does
not try to cover up the ever-present problems of objectivity when under-
taking a scientific study of any kind. In this capacity, it seems well suited
for uncovering subjectively based processes connected to creation and
creativity (Scherdin, 2008), which are difficult or even impossible to reveal
with what are considered to be more objective methods.
AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC TEXT: SHORT TRAVELS

AND JOURNEYS AND THE RESULT OF SEVENTEEN
FACETS
Prologue
It feels as though I’m fighting with everybody. All I want is to present a

product that is sustainable – visually as well as in other ways – a book in
which every part, the paper and font as well as understanding, explanation
and presentation work together to form a whole. A whole made of several
parts together creating something beyond the sum of them. Ivo under-
stands. I take courage and start juggling with various accounts in order to
get past the square logic of the (Uppsala) university. I have learnt this in
the barren reality of the art world.
So many invasions from and vain attacks on the so-called simplicity of
bureaucracy. And behind all that, something has started to itch.
It seems like a depression, yet it is not. In depressed conditions I usually

ordain myself walks. I seem to have prescribed them in time this time.
Before the signal substances have dug tracks too deep to crawl out of.
I am in emptiness.
Between two.
In between.
I wonder how long this will go on, but soon reach the flattering thought
that things have always ended well before. In retrospect I have always, no
matter how many pirouettes I have made in the faces of bosses and though
it has been trying, emerged stronger from the process.
The deep distrust and doubts that meet me every time I have made it
difficult for myself.
– God, you are destroying your career, why you have just been
promoted!
– Are you going to back out now – remember we have a recession.
– You’re fucking up your art career, going into the academic world
now?
I’m getting used to it. When my surroundings are yelling in a thick wall of
voices, its chorus only becomes a smokescreen for my next gamble.
The Copy Machine
The defeat by the copy machine, where Ivo frankly said: ‘Who would
understand this? Membrane? What is that? I don’t understand anything;
then how do you believe a committee choosing from hundreds of sugges-
tions could make a positive decision based on this in a few minutes time?’
I really had no reasonable answer to that. I downheartedly carried the –
in my view – clear descriptions back home. How the f-k am I supposed to
specify something that emanates from a dim and vague idea? I note that
ideas and thoughts reveal themselves in another way to me than to the
people of the academy. In some way, many people are thinking – straight.
I am fascinated by the way my colleagues quickly draw a line that, using
their experience, cuts straight in some direction, at the same time remaining
strangely unable to shift track or try to think from the head of someone else.
Their façades use a linear defence with flanks and columns in the
medieval way.
A point is made about being so cleeeeeeeeear that others become
jealous, even if the actual point of departure is very cloudy. In a way one
could wonder whether texts, books and theses are products of the writer
or if, in the end, the writer is just the logical product of what’s produced.
Do they form a line?

Despite my inability to produce lines, I file an application to the

Cultural Council hoping for the best. It is not straight, nor messy – with a
little luck it’ll simply be considered cloudy.
In my calendar, Sunday 27th of May, it’s written:
Do transitions create membranes?

For example from nature to urban?
Shortly after sending my cloudy application to the Cultural Council, I

visit a Rauschenberg exhibition at the Modern Museum and discover the
amazing tripartite picture. A picture with two depicting parts and a black
section between them. For all its modest appearance beside all the scream-
ing assemblages and collages, it speaks to me.
At about the same time, I have also filed a paper – or rather I have devel-
oped an earlier abstract which to my great surprise was approved – for a
conference. I mailed it electronically – ‘submitted it’ as they say in internal
academic mumbo jumbo. This paper too is very cloudy; like in well-used
dish water, it is hard to tell whether it’s the water or the floating food
remains that is important. Considering the jury that has judged it, I am
impressed it got this far. (The paper is called “Framed” and would later
become published. My note.) I gladly pay the conference fee as well as my
family’s trip to Gotland. Perhaps this will be a good summer; starting with
an academic conference and a return to beautiful Gotland. It’ll be nice to
get away. Along with leisure and family life I will use the opportunity of
taking some photographs.
Every spring I feel like taking pictures.
Every spring I photograph nature.
Flowers.
Butterflies.
A lot of butterflies.
And every spring I conclude that they are nature images.
Just nature images.
Images of nature – crosswise, sidewise and up front. Close up and from
a distance. No resistance. And this year at Gotland is no exception.
But something is different. I know the pictures will be harmless; I know it
is fun to catch something through a lens and much less fun to see the result.
But I don’t care – I dismiss the knowledge and photograph anyway.
I’m photographing horizons. That’s what feels most interesting in the
flat landscape of Sudret at the south end of Gotland. A fantastic light
and infinite space appeal. I am reminded of the tripartite Rauschenberg
painting, where a mid section split the two depicting parts – just like the
horizon.

Figure 4.1 Sudret, Gotland, Sweden
Gotland horizons (June 2007)

We have rented a cottage at a creek by the south point. At night time, you
can see Burgsvik across the water of the creek. We arrived yesterday after-
noon and I am spending the early morning reconnoitring the surround-
ings. Apart from the somehow rotten tang-smelling air, I soon discover
that there are bicycle stands but no bikes. It should mean, though, that
bikes are available in the area. I call the guy who rented us the cabin, and
he promises to produce some immediately. I suggest to my family that I go
first, exploring potential excursion goals while they relax, shop for supplies
and prepare for a cycle trip later in the afternoon. The sun is broiling, and
puts the unmistakable acidity in my nostrils that feels like it’s pulling the
salt out of the sea. I bring my camera, water and some sandwiches on this
first exploring cycle ride. The light is so sharp I screw up my eyes and my
entire forehead. I pass places such as Fide, Fidenäs and Öja. I can feel the
sea even though I am pretty far from the shoreline. I leave the main road
and head for the ocean by a very bumpy trail.
The cattle live almost by the water; sheep, calves and cows are staring
gloomily at me. An ogling collective. I take my camera out to start
photographing. I stop. What is there around here? Long barren lines,
horizons, several kilometre long stone fences – but above all, horizons. I
contemplate this fact for a moment, thinking about how it assembles the

Rauschenberg painting with the horizon line corresponding to the paint-

ing’s black section – the partition.
Having munched on some sandwiches, gobbled down a few beers and,
to the cows’ delight, let the latter out again, I conclude that horizons are
boring.
So very boring.
There is nothing fun about them whatsoever. Painted ad nauseam
through history, horizons are – even though Strindbergs and Hills may
still have fascinating qualities – pretty sad. I contemplate this fact – still I
lift my camera and start photographing. There is something in the chal-
lenge of horizons being so worn out. I want mine to be completely straight.
Exactly alike on both sides, like a wave. This is the only thing I find
necessary. I can see the basics of the result immediately in the monitor.
Altogether a handful of horizons come out. Not so bad, but pretty plain.
Just ordinary horizons, but for some inscrutable reason, I save them.
Gattières horizons (July 2007)

If there is no oxygen here in Gattières (at my first academic conference) in
the mountains near Nice, France, I have decided beforehand that my aca-
demic conference career will be short. The event takes place in a lovely inn,
a classic French auberge surrounded by meandering mountain roads, olive
groves, Provençal smells and a sultry siesta heat. Between the Alps and the
ocean – “Alpes Maritimes”, as the French say. The heat makes me associ-
ate to “The Plague” by Camus – a bit sticky. The constant moist pressure
against the skin gives a slightly claustrophobic sensation – as though the
surroundings are pressing in through the skin. Invading.
Many people know each other. I know only one, Pierre Guillet de
Monthoux. Such situations make me uncomfortable. I sit down a bit aside
and adopt a wait-and-see attitude. A brown armchair suits me perfectly.
I don’t run the risk of anybody rudely intruding my private sphere in that
unpleasantly close way which conferences often result in. Disturbing, and
usually hopeless since one cannot simply move away. But now I have my
own armchair. Though I still feel that my anchorage is uncomfortably
frail; just an insignificant presence like a piece of paper in the wind. I have
nothing. The conference moves leisurely on, with the usual paper presenta-
tions and PowerPoint lectures. Despite this, I develop inner threads if not
theoretical connections to these people. They are presenting the most unin-
telligible aesthetical theoretical tracks. The aesthetics of the handshake,
the aesthetics of seamen and what not. I feel like an alibi, the one practical
aesthete to have gotten access. Access on their charity into the fine high
theoretical contexts. So subtle, they are flying high above me. I get a sticky
feeling that they are talking “about me”, yet I do not understand it. They

Figure 4.2 Gattières, Nice, France
talk and talk. They babble and chatter about aesthetics in general – our
languages are different. Utterly parted. A demarcation. Sometimes, I
contribute with twittering happy remarks from the daily life of a practi-
tioner. But my comments are quickly pushed to the ground by other, more
elegant formulations. For example, in a rash enthusiasm over my new role,
I throw a remark to a Finnish woman studying to become an orchestra
musician. Her answer is like she is ice skating all over my line of argument.
Ritch, ratch – an academic pirouette all over me. Away with all that simple
practical filthiness – back to refined discussions. Everybody applauds her
afterwards. The silliness of the whole thing is stacking up inside. It’s funny
how the people who study artists – their guilds, groupings and expressions
– are so infantile and arrogantly sailing high above those who in practice
represent and actually carry, and are, the expressions.
If they are flying so high, I think – do they have the eyes to see what is
there?
Is their eyesight that good?
May well be, I conclude.
Maybe they are all eagles hunting for small game.
Despite the fluttering aesthetical synthetics, the conference feels very
much worthwhile for one reason. It is the clear notion that I have a future
– a bearing in academic contexts (as well). And that is enough, I suppose.

A notion of a future. So I turn my presence down. Spend my time watch-

ing. I watch the people who populate this place. Some are nervous, others
I would label neurotic, and yet others seem completely callous but armed
with dichotomy-sharpened philosophical weapons tucked away in their
luggage. Ready to be thrown out like ninja stars, tearing everything mysti-
cal to pieces, splinters falling clinging against the cold French brick floors.
I mentally take my leave of the aesthetical ninjas and their throwing and
nagging, instead planning the next walk in my head. To once again, in
new companies, train my eyes. They are more easily trained when chal-
lenged in new environments with unexpected turns. I am walking in the
mountains. I am walking among endlessly chirping cicadas, along steep
mountain slopes correctly cutting a tangle of all kinds of vegetation not
offered in cold Sweden. The stay here is just wonderful, despite my uneasy
feeling with a new surrounding. I get a clear feeling it has created a start
for something new.
Lapland horizons (July–August 2007)

Shortly before we are to leave for our Gotland vacation, I get a call from
my brother saying our father has died. This means I will be making several
trips to Lapland this summer. My mother died last summer and now dad
– our family will go through yet another summer hacked up in funeral,
property division and family fights. Well yes, that’s exactly how it is. A
great torment and finally – there is no better word for this sad story – it
will come to an end. I have washed the car and filled it with all kinds of
liquids – including coffee in a thermos – so as to manage the road trip
from Stockholm to Lapland. The final targets of these trips are always
tragic points filled with agony, memories I never want back and people
who are long sent off to the forgotten storage shelves of the props. In
short – the trip’s final stop is torment, but the trip itself an amazing philo-
sophical space of time. There is just nothing better than driving a car alone
northwards, preferably on inland roads without competing traffic. So
few cars you almost greet the oncoming drivers or at least glance at them
curiously. The idea is I make a touchdown in Jämtland and then go on to
Lapland – in total a trip of about 750 kilometres one way. It is summer
and I have brought my camera. I have always seen the winter as one great
crust, between the abrasion and its coming off in the spring. Norrland has
endless roads winding through desolate landscapes. Mile upon mile of
forests. A short break with a little village surrounded by old fat woods, so
thick you wonder if people can breathe in these small communities.
Who lives here?
And how do they manage in the winter, having at least ten miles to the
next settlement?

Figure 4.3 Åsele, Sweden

I am fascinated by the communities’ names: Överturingen, Rätan,

Skålan, Kvällträsk, Remmarbäcken.
During the journey I photograph a number of interesting horizons. I
don’t know what use they will be, but this track has just kept on develop-
ing itself all through the summer. And now something else comes up as
well. Something I have not experienced before. Small pieces of text. Short
little verses come at me in a fairly thick stream. Time after time I am forced
to stop the car just to scribble down yet another sentence, a verse, a little
piece. I honestly haven’t a clue what this will be good for. Yet another
fluttering expression for something impossible to formulate? Can’t my
head just stick to the usual? Why, I have just found something potentially
interesting in horizons. Isn’t that enough? This annoys me, but I know I
can’t just ignore it. Also, I have in fact written short verses to accompany
image meditations before. Though this is different. This is something of its
own, demanding my attention. I decide to take it seriously. I make a little
detour to Åsarna to buy a good notebook. I catch what appears; I focus
the fragments.
On a subway train between Mariatorget and Old Town, Stockholm

(November 2007)
The train is half-full. The wagons are of the old kind that squeak and
whose windows make it easier to spy on fellow passengers, than the
slanted ones of the new wagons. Those destroy the mirror-effect. I am
on my way to an afternoon meeting with Annika Gunnarsson of the
Modern Museum. We meet every now and then just to keep in touch.
Suddenly, my eye falls upon a person, a young man, perhaps twenty years
old precisely. It hits me like an elevator right from my own passed time.
A tunnel is opened between us. He becomes a Janus mirror. I’m looking
straight into myself: awkwardly, clearly; but tempting. The meeting lasts
for about five minutes, between Mariatorget and the Central Tube Station
of Stockholm. The short meeting will not leave me alone. When I get
home, I throw myself on the bed and write down poem upon poem upon
poem. Straight down on the paper with the five minute meeting as source.
In total, during a few weeks I gradually type out seventeen poems which
I call facets.
Seventeen facets – text and image find each other (December 2007)
I work with my entire digital image archive trying to find pictures suit-
able for a potential cover for the poems. Uninspired I search for options,
rambling about in front of my computer. I pick up close-ups, beetles, self-
portraits, views and pictures of the 500-year-old mansion Kräklingbo. In
short, I go through most of the stuff on the hard drive but without finding

anything that sticks out immediately or vividly. No thread. No beginning.

Instead I start manipulating pictures I find interesting. I am caught by a
photograph taken in Jämtland. It is haunting, it is suggestive – it has a
pressure, a solitude.
It has something.
In itself.
I turn the matter over in my mind for a bit, realizing that maybe. Just
maybe. Maybe, these pictures could become interesting if turned verti-
cally. Vertical horizons create something different. They disturb the eye
just like Baselitz’s upside-down paintings do.
If he can do it, I can.
I limit my search for motives to vertical horizons and thus discover some
fun surfaces and possibilities.
I then draw up some In Design documents in order to combine pic-
tures and text. And that’s it. Suddenly all the horizon photographs I took
during the summer and autumn tumble into me in their new vertical form.
Vertical horizons. Like an instant bunch of keys, I have the solution for the
poems at the same time. They are just perfect beside the vertical horizon
pictures. The poems and the pictures I have worked on simultaneously
for months have found a common meaning. What I have not seen, reveals
itself. They become each other’s counterparts. Why, I can’t quite put my
finger on – but all that was dull about the horizons is all swept away. They
are no longer horizons but have become objects. And the texts that lacked
something have found their context. It is right and that is enough. There
is a haunting beauty in both text and image. This might be like swearing
in the church, publishing photographs together with poems. Someone will
say it is too much or everything twice over. I don’t care.
Spring is in the air and I have put the manuscript together just for fun
and sent it to some publishers. Maybe someone will rise to the bait. Maybe
it will just become part of a scientific article. Maybe it will find its publish-
ing at a later occasion. I do not bother to speculate on this now.
They say on the news that an all-time high number of cranes have been
spotted at the Hornborgar Lake.
I decide to go to Denmark.
Excerpt texts from the poem and picture collection 17 Facets
FACET 6
his face is not yet shade in shade
the interest lies in the wanting
passages into loss
lack of loss

Figure 4.4 Skålan, Jämtland, Sweden
full ink cartridges

contrasts and
distinct lines
all packages arrive

in clarity
between us
a migraine of silence
and in the midst of the absurdity of nuance

I am utterly detached

the ghost of loss

leaves no traces
I fight the realization
FACET 9
perfect movement
our spheres in one nano pipe each
he in mine
but
not mine in his
always
we meet up on the texture surface

we run
along each other
each in his track

through broad-gauge
woods of Manchester
cloth
I desire what’s tall and thin

sharpness
the great heights

and
a lack of feet
FACET 11
unnoticed centre
the yellow signal stripes of the wasp
he sits there so annoying
evident
exclusive
confident
and confidential

without doubt
I am one-legged ambivalent
experienced juggling balls are in the air
soon falling to the ground
frozen by perspectives
vicious circle or idling speed

your choice
oh no he is not self-satisfied
or stuck-up
just naively clear
slender-limbed and armed
who needs to choose?
FACET 13
the distance is great
but
I am sneaking
with my eyes
the treat is on him

just like before
but inversely
we are
connected by
diaphragmic tear ducts
FACET 16
misty back
cut lips
I backwards
he forwards
one seam allowance between

he sees himself
when I sew stretched pieces of cloth together
I see both
an indefinite body
he thinks he knows
I know I don’t
the tacking thread is too short
TOWARDS A REVISION OF OPPORTUNITY

RECOGNITION – OPPORTUNITY REVELATION
Having gone through the construction of a rough, alternative conceptual

framework and presented the case, I want to get back to the initial discus-
sion about early creation processes in general and the concept of opportu-
nity recognition in particular. Let us start this final discussion by returning
to the assumptions of the traditional concept of opportunity recognition.
Shane and Venkataraman (2000) clearly state that there exist objective
opportunities out there that are up for grabs, which can be seen as the
result of some form of (technological) change. Secondly, those opportuni-
ties can only be seen by certain people, with certain acquired information
and cognitive skills, and thirdly entrepreneurs believe in certain more or
less clearly perceived means–ends relationships. These three assumptions
carry the received view of the opportunity recognition concept, based on
the idea of externally induced forces as the dynamic principle. However,
we have to pose some questions in light of the autoethnographic case,
about the nature of early creation processes and in the context of creative
art and entrepreneurship. Let us “ask the autoethnographic text” and
compare it with the assumptions of the traditional opportunity recogni-
tion concept and the broadened perspective that takes into account the
cogitative powers of the brain.
Q1: Do objective, external phenomena and opportunities exist in the (exter-

nal) artistic and entrepreneurial reality? With examples from the case,
we rather see that some external impulses start certain processes towards
something, but also how it is very unclear and unknown for the artist what
these impulses are and why they appear. In a sense, there exists an external
physical reality, but it does not amount to or produce an objective oppor-
tunity that is up for grabs.

Q2: Do artistic entrepreneurial ideas arise in the nexus of a certain individual

and an external objective reality (out there)? Yes, in a way, but reality
could also serve as a “background” and “future memory” for conjuring
up images and does not necessarily arise in the nexus. It feeds a future
background for the internal and subjective process that is unclear and in
certain respects is only sensed to be on its way.
Q3: Is recognition of an opportunity subjective (Shane and Venkataraman,

2000: 220)? Yes, of course.
Q4: If the recognition process is subjective, does it mean that it is always

happening “inside” an individual person, as a mental process? Always,
how could this type of process happen outside of the individual? Working
artistically and entrepreneurially, persons are in the process, they are the
process, they are the idea – at the moment of creation.
Q5: Are those subjective creative processes cognitive? To some extent, the
process can be said to be using past cognitive facts, like sensations, impres-
sions and already embodied experiences and memories. It could also be
the case of utilizing conscious or unconscious background information
for subjective creation processes. However the process is not instant, it is
emergent and unclear, as we see in the case, and the opportunity finally
reveals itself after a while – then it becomes a new cognitive fact. Loosely
coupled, emerging cogitative processes have produced new facts and
memories.
Q6: The dynamic principle (of opportunity recognition), is it only externally

induced or is it internally driven? Of course, as we see in the case, it could
be seen as both externally induced and internally driven, working towards
the creation of an art object. In my experience as an artist and entrepre-
neur, one can add that an instantly clear idea often results in a “simple
piece”, whereas fuzzy and internally driven processes have a tendency to
result in more interesting pieces.
Q7: Are there cognitive or cogitative powers-based art and entrepreneurial

processes? What we see in the case is a truly cogitatively based process
evolving over time, in a fuzzy and unclear fashion. To add cogitative
elements to theories about creative processes makes them more under-
standable. A revision of the concept opportunity recognition towards
opportunity revelation in some cases appears relevant and necessary,
making it possible to explore hitherto neglected or ignored processes in
research on art and entrepreneurship.

Q8: Conscious or subconscious art and entrepreneurial processes? Research

in neurosciences argues that our embodied natural knowledge from birth,
as well as all the acquired knowledge from life experiences is stored as rep-
resentative dispositions. Damasio (1994: 135) concludes that: ‘[. . .] many
structural details are decided by genes, at the same time much is decided by
the living organism’s own activity, an organism under constant develop-
ment throughout its life.’
These representative dispositions in turn control a great number of pro-

cesses (in the body), not necessarily by representing them as conscious
images (Damasio, 1994). In other words, (1) there are unconscious pro-
cesses constantly (and indirectly) influencing us, and (2) there are no clear
retrievals from memory with copies of experiences enabling us to re-create
logically coherent patterns. Rather, an idea appears as an indirect image,
as the whole process shows in the case, and as if it consists of several differ-
ent memories (embodiments), where parts are based upon genes, and some
gained by experiences from many parts of the body. The autoethnographic
text specifically shows an emerging process that involves images and
poems, and an unexpectedly unconscious rather than conscious creative
process.
CONCLUDING THOUGHTS
To conclude this chapter, drawing upon recent scientific claims in the

fields of neurosciences and neurophilosophy and pairing it with the find-
ings from the autoethnographic case, there is significant evidence that we
need to explore new views on how art and entrepreneurial processes occur.
Artist and entrepreneurs do not always recognize “things”, opportunity
recognition may be a loosely coupled and emergent internal process, inter-
preting a now in the light of all past knowledge and embodied memories,
and ultimately revealing new ideas. Under certain circumstances opportu-
nities reveal themselves, they are not recognized. This should be the point
of departure for further studies on the opportunity recognition process.
NOTES
1. I see this as the main perspective on opportunity recognition, arguably one that (unin-
tentionally) has been tainted by historical heritage and the economist’s way of thinking.
In the rapidly evolving literature on opportunity recognition, several partially contend-
ing views have been proposed, some of which are in line with the ideas expressed in this
chapter, see for example Sarasvathy (2001), Gartner, Carter and Hills (2003), Sarasvathy

et al. (2003), Alvarez and Barney (2007), McMullen, Plummer and Acs (2007), and
Vaghely and Julien (2010).
2. Or what is synonymously referred to as her consciousness. The term mind/brain is used at the
outset for avoiding: (a) categorical and language mistakes; (b) historical misunderstandings;
and (c) getting deeper into an ongoing philosophical debate. There is some evidence that
theories of brain and mind are finally (in need of) collapsing into a unified science of mind/
brain (Churchland, 1986). The combined term avoids using “brain” as a concept which leans
heavily upon (only) neurophysiological functions and tends towards a reductionistic fallacy,
and likewise “mind” which comes with a mereological fallacy in that it ascribes psycho-
logical attributes to the brain (Blakemore, 1998; Hacker, 2007). For matters of simplicity,
however, the most commonly used term, brain, will be used throughout this chapter.
3. Perception derives from our four perceptual organs: sight, hearing, taste and smell, as
well as tactile perception which means “using” the body as a whole. Sensations are gener-
ated from all the five senses. I define knowledge primarily as an acquired ability to do or
perform something. Memory is seen as a cognitive power of human beings, not of their
nervous system (Milner, Squire and Kandel, 1998).
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5. Inviting the unexpected:
entrepreneurship and the arts
Stefan Meisiek and Stefan Haefliger
When a stranger asks for examples of entrepreneurship in your country,

isn’t it common to think spontaneously of innovative business ventures?
True entrepreneurs, so it is believed, create value when they bring useful
novelties to the world; turning inventions into ready-to-ship innovations.
They develop and sell products or services that satisfy practical needs and
that clients are willing to pay for – a cell phone for communication, a
drug against a terminal illness, a search engine for the Internet, and so on.
Arguably, this expression of novelty creation is one of the most fascinating
and emphasized facets of entrepreneurship. Governments develop poli-
cies to foster it for wealth creation, newspapers and business magazines
sing its praise, and universities encourage their brightest students to try
it. However, in this chapter we argue that to understand entrepreneur-
ship’s involvement with novelty creation scholars may benefit more from
looking at the arts than from studying start-up ventures.
There is a simple reason for this: the marginalized role of the unexpected.
Scholars explain business entrepreneurship predominantly in terms of eco-
nomic rationality. In this view, entrepreneurs are attentive and react only
to those changes in their environment that promise immediate economic
payoff. More often than not, the environmental changes are obvious or
marginal, providing entrepreneurs only with me-too and niche opportu-
nities. As a consequence, few business entrepreneurs create novelty and
most do very well by copying other companies’ processes, products and
services (Bhidé, 2000). In some exceptional cases, however, the environ-
ment produces unexpected yet pivotal changes that create windows of
opportunity for entrepreneurs to create and commercialize novel products
and services. Examples include Steve Jobs of Apple, Frederick Smith of
FedEx, Bill Gates of Microsoft, or even Howard Schultz of Starbucks.
Beyond this initial phase, however, the unexpected again tends to play
no further role in entrepreneurship studies that test assumptions based
upon economic rationality. On the contrary, further unexpected events are
regarded as threats to the analysis, planning and implementation impetus.
78

Inviting the unexpected: entrepreneurship and the arts 79
The entrepreneur has to avoid them or adapt to them quickly to maintain

established stakeholder connections and to secure the economic success of
the venture.
Aspects that don’t fit well with this image of entrepreneurship are fre-
quently belittled or mystified. They are either deemed negligible in view of
the dominant process, or are placed under the assumption that entrepre-
neurs are somehow but inexplicably creative. The dominant account of
entrepreneurship neglects concomitant processes by which meaning rather
than business value is created. If we assess entrepreneurs’ value proposi-
tions only in terms of their pay-off, we lose a more nuanced account, where
the meaning of a novelty is not equal to its functionality or economic
success, but relates to the aesthetical and ethical sentiments it evokes,
and where dreaming, discovering and free imagination are central aspects
of the process of creation. In a more nuanced account, we contend, the
unexpected takes the role of something to invite throughout the process of
creation, rather than something merely to hope for in the beginning and
to react to later.
Looking at the creation of novelty in the arts offers a way around the
problems associated with studying novelty in business ventures, because in
the arts artifacts are less valued for their functional qualities than for the
meaning they purport vis-à-vis the existing cultural production (Gadamer,
1986). And creating novelty is of central concern for artists. While artists
certainly benefit from self-promotion and sales skills, and they certainly
also quote, borrow and copy from previous works, their success depends
on audiences perceiving their works as novelties. Being seen as a creator
of novelty buys attention in the art community and beyond. Art critics
evaluate the extent to which a new exhibition is different from all prior
ones, museum directors choose pieces that have made a substantial con-
tribution to the art field, and art connoisseurs put their money-votes on
pieces that intrigue them as long-term investments. The value that artists
create depends on how far their work rephrases and shifts dominant views
(Marquard, 1989; Groys, 1999; Wijnberg and Gemser, 2000). The mon-
etary relationship is there, but it is meaning-based, rather than need-based.
The meaning-based value of artistic works and the constant pressure for
novelties in the arts cast a shadow over understandings of entrepreneur-
ship that are based solely on economic rationality. An entrepreneuring
artist cannot foresee developments in the arts, much less plan and imple-
ment them with foresight. Even reacting to events and new developments
would be too late. Creating novelty becomes a human-centered activity,
where artists act from within their cultured context to discover, imagine
and express shifts in meaning. The unexpected is invited all along. In this
case, the key to entrepreneurship lies not in improving the old through

the new (“a better mousetrap”), but in seeing how valued and unvalued,
familiar and unfamiliar come together around meaningful changes to
existing perspectives and assumptions. However, inviting the unexpected
doesn’t imply trying anything in the hope that something might happen.
The trick lies in inviting the unexpected as a fertile part of a robust and
rigorous process of production (be it of art, services or products). We
believe that the literature on art practice shows what such a process might
look like, what assumptions it is based upon, and where it might lead the
entrepreneur-artist. These insights may prove fertile ground for business
entrepreneurship and enrich accounts of economic rationality by adding
accounts and elements of artistic production.
In this book chapter, we will follow this train of thought through a
discussion of why inviting the unexpected may be a stabilizing and gen-
erative, rather than a destabilizing factor in the creation of novelty. We
begin with an example of the art organization etoy (http://etoy.com),
which occupies a place between business and artistic entrepreneurship in
a unique way. It is a critical company that emulates business structures to
produce artistic value, and it highlights how the unexpected might have
its place in business entrepreneurship as much as in art entrepreneurship.
We show how inviting the unexpected relies upon emergence, renewal and
the entrepreneurial community. These ideas provide a conceptual basis for
revisiting the relationship between novelty and entrepreneurship. We close
with a discussion of the implications of our arguments for the wider area
of entrepreneurship.
ETOY’S SARCOPHAGUS1
In March 2003, members of etoy met in Saas Fee in southern Switzerland

to discuss the art group’s strategy for the coming years. The group
included most of the active members of etoy at the time and a key advisor.
The discussions during the meeting revolved around the perspectives of
the user of etoy’s art, the inversion of the perspective from the artist to the
user, and the participative nature of etoy’s work in general.
Just before the meeting in the Alpine retreat, etoy had started to inter-
view elderly people in an effort to understand their views on art; media art
in particular. Productive and inspiring work with young children during
the recent project etoy.DAY-CARE had led the group to explore the other
end of life. It turned out that the responses were overwhelmingly positive
with a healthy skepticism towards the actual content of the performance
or installations. These responses, and experiences from earlier successful
projects in the 1990s like digital hijack and TOYWAR,2 made it clear

that an expansion of what is considered art needed to be etoy’s focus.

The underlying assumption was massive participation and the sharing
of knowledge, capital, and ownership: the group identity of etoy was
designed to undermine the idea of the artist genius in a knowledge-based
economy.
After the experience with TOYWAR, a domain name battle against a
US toy retailer who claimed the name etoy years after the art group was
established, the Internet hype seemed long gone. In contrast to the fast-
paced world of online work and life, the group longed for a project that
would aim higher and deeper than media art is usually considered to do.
The responses and interaction with elderly individuals, their perspective
and outlook, as well as the virtuality of what follows human life moved
death into the center of the artistic endeavor.
Media art faces another difficulty connected to the perils of online life:
documentation and conservation. Curators, archivists, and art historians
around the world debate appropriate ways of storing art that lives on
screens. Should you replace a CRT with an LCD monitor to display early
video art? How can net activism of the early 1990s be experienced with
interfaces and browsers of 2009? Etoy’s digital hijack in 1996 worked with
pre-Google search engines, most of which have disappeared completely.
The next long-term project of etoy would have to solve etoy’s own docu-
mentation and conservation problems. If etoy was to explore the boundary
that separates life from afterlife, a technology backbone3 that saves data
reliably for a very long time would have to be a central component of what
became known internally, and later externally, as MISSION ETERNITY.
In 2005, grand but vague ideas about data conservation, memory,
and the nature of human digital traces, construction plans for a large art
installation, and ongoing exhibitions forced the group to realize that what
it was about to tackle stretched the available resources to an unhealthy
degree. The only solution was to take MISSION ETERNITY literally and
modularize the project wherever possible. The modularization over time
represented a difficult decision because severe resource constraints seemed
to limit the artistic ambitions. The core group of etoy had to reach con-
sensus about the most essential next steps. The decisions followed artistic
as well as economic constraints. The artistic constraints were determined
by the ideas developed during the workshops with all etoy members and
advisors as well as etoy’s quality standards. The first installation (or mani-
festation) of MISSION ETERNITY had to combine virtual and physical
elements, it had to challenge and extend the way society dealt with the
dead, with remembering and forgetting, it had to fit into an archiving and
documentation strategy that supported the type of art etoy produced, and
it had to exceed the quality standards in the market. Economic constraints

included the very high uncertainty of future public funding, limits to incur-
ring private debt, and the low reliability of inviting institutions’ budget
commitments.
The development process at etoy is open and shared, like etoy’s owner-
ship itself. All members and external advisors are usually invited to all
meetings. Depending on the individuals who show up and engage in the
discussions, the outcome changes. The core group of four to five indi-
viduals pools relevant information and tends to keep the discussion alive,
depending on the topic and specialization of the individual (engineer-
ing, architecture, medicine, economics, law, and so on). The distinction
between members of etoy and the external community (owners, art con-
sumers, friends) is constantly shifting due to the involvement and integra-
tion of advisors into specific projects. The actual development workshops
usually span an extended weekend and revolve around loose ends, grand
ideas, puns, new technologies to experiment with, inspiring other artistic
and technical projects, and the all-present purposeful coincidence and
spontaneity that carries the group towards exciting work.
This said, many ideas are exciting but nobody is capable of or interested
in implementing them. One example of such an idea involved the structur-
ing and tagging of digital data left behind by an individual. These ideas are
the hardest to kill because there is something attractive about them and
abandoning them means admitting to a lack of capability as an organi-
zation. Other ideas might be fun and feasible but consensus about their
relevance remains shaky. An example that keeps reappearing from external
observers is the suggestion to enter into the undertaking business: possibly
lucrative but artistically marginal. Relevance and artistic impact is not only
difficult to evaluate at the outset, it is the single most critical variable for
the organization’s survival in the long run. At regular intervals, discussions
gravitate back to the grand ideas. A grand idea in MISSION ETERNITY
was the renewal of the death cult for a knowledge society; the search for
meaningful ways to both remember and forget digital traces that human
beings leave behind on social network sites, government databases, and
personal archives. Another grand idea for etoy was the distribution and
sharing of content among many individuals, institutions, and locations.
In late 2005 the plans for a SARCOPHAGUS began to take shape in
Berlin, where members of etoy interacted with the hacker organization
Chaos Computer Club (http://www.ccc.de/?language=en) and a group of
software engineers who had built control elements for large screens con-
sisting of individually controllable light pixels, for places such as facades
of large buildings. Reusing components of their software and adding new
hardware engineering, etoy built the first prototypes of the pixel screen in
early 2006. A first test panel created temporary panic among the group

because the color of the light-emitting diodes (LED) was difficult to

predict and white turned out to mean subtle shades of other colors when
held next to each other. In January 2006, it was impossible to know what
the final installation inside the cargo container would look like. However,
the container, custom-made circuit boards, LEDs, mounting solutions,
power equipment, and other infrastructure required large up-front invest-
ments. At the same time, ISEA Zero One, a large art festival in the United
States, had selected the SARCOPHAGUS (designs) for an exhibition
scheduled for July 2006. There was no going back. Etoy hired external
engineers to help with hardware design and implementation and engaged
a number of friends and dormant members of etoy to commit to the tasks
at hand.
The first visible installation became the SARCOPHAGUS, a 20ft modi-
fied cargo container equipped with 17 000 individually controllable LED
lights which has been traveling the world as a mobile final resting place
since 2006:
The MISSION ETERNITY SARCOPHAGUS is a mobile sepulcher for users

who prefer to be buried at an indeterminate geographical location. The mobile
cemetery tank is a 20 foot ISO standard cargo container (6m long, 2.4m wide,
2.6m high, 4 tons weight) and potentially travels planet earth until it falls apart.
The system allows for simple re-location of the mortal remains of up to 1000
M∞ PILOTS.
The SARCOPHAGUS is equipped with an immersive LED screen of 17,000
pixels that cover the walls, ceiling and floor on which the visitors can walk. It
displays the ARCANUM CAPSULE content and functions as a public instal-
lation wherever the TANK travels. Visitors of the SARCOPHAGUS access
and interact with ARCANUM CAPSULES via their mobile phones (WAP/
XHTML) or a web browser (XHTML).
The ARCANUM CAPSULE refers to the interactive portraits of individu-
als (referred to as pilots) that are designed and built to circulate the global info
sphere forever. Source: http://missioneternity.org/
The spring of 2006 witnessed an unprecedented leap forward for etoy.

Under considerable physical and emotional strain, etoy members worked
day and night to build the entire structure within a few months before it was
shipped from Zurich, Switzerland, to San Jose, United States and arrived
in time for the festival opening. Luckily for etoy, the SARCOPHAGUS
appears to have had an impact on art history. The SARCOPHAGUS
has since won two awards and received extensive media coverage in the
United States, Spain, France, Switzerland, and China. In 2007, the ashes
of Timothy Leary (http://missioneternity.org/pilots/test-pilot-leary/) have
been integrated as the first mortal remains to travel around the globe with
MISSION ETERNITY. The SARCOPHAGUS has traveled to San Jose,

the Nevada desert, Val de Travers in Switzerland, Madrid, Beijing, and

Bern in the years 2006–09.
EMERGENCE
A sense of emergence accompanied the development of MISSION

ETERNITY. Planning and intentions entered the picture as frequently
as surprises and new technologies. Conversations with elderly people trig-
gered a design process that led to the implementation of a new software
application for long-term data storage and the creation of a large-scale,
yet mobile installation to store human ashes. The details reveal a similar
picture. The discovery and reuse of the software technology and know-how
to control pixel screens made up of individual LEDs enabled the creation
of an immersive light experience inside a cargo container. The combina-
tion of those technologies was unknown at the time of planning the instal-
lation. The engineers of etoy grabbed the opportunity as it appeared and
reused a technology platform that allowed new custom-made hardware to
run with existing software and hardware modules.
MISSION ETERNITY reflects William Gibson’s famous witticism that
‘the future is already here – it is just unevenly distributed.’ Schumpeter
(1934) made the point more cogently when he suggested that every novelty
results from combining existing resources, and that successful new com-
binations allow entrepreneurs to creatively destroy the existing order.
Schumpeter (1934) also provided a typology of new combinations that
would allow predicting the kinds of combinations that are most likely to
have the creative destruction effect. Entrepreneurs are cast as an army of
hopefuls, who relentlessly and blindly try new combinations to bring crea-
tive novelties to the market. While most will fail, a few Edisons, Fords,
Gates and so on will gear up the force to topple the existing market prin-
cipals. In analogous fashion, it has been said that only a handful of artists
will manage to recast the public understanding of art by recombining the
old (Gombrich, 1960; Groys, 1999). While it is too early to say if etoy’s
new media art will fulfill the group’s intention of pushing the boundary
of art out, the recombining of existing elements of culture and technology
certainly shows similarity to Schumpeter’s ideas.
Much less discussed is that Schumpeter (1934) failed to provide an
explanation of novelty. Schumpeter regarded it as obvious that combina-
tions are essential to the generation of novelty in any field, but – as he
admitted himself – he could not describe the exact workings of the proc-
esses generating novelty (Schumpeter, 2005; Becker, Knudson and March,
2006). The problem arises from Schumpeter’s basic assumption that

novelty emerges from combinations of existing resources. Novelty doesn’t

just appear from one day to the next. It slowly but surely takes form until
it is readily and broadly recognizable as something new.
While most scholars readily agree on the combinatory origin of novelty
in a closed system like our planet, emergence turns out to be a contested
word, because it can alternatively be said to happen in a linear or non-linear
fashion. It is a classic philosophical problem (Stace, 1939). The discussion
if every consequence needs a foreseeable cause reaches from Epicure and
the Stoics, via Descartes and Vico, to 20th century philosophy. If all emer-
gence were linear, we would be able to model and predict it with accuracy.
It would allow us to harness the emergence of novelty as we harnessed
physical forces such as heat or pressure. This image is not without appeal,
and a number of scholars have described and prescribed the production of
novelty as a routine activity for organizations (Drucker, 1985). However,
if emergence is happening at least sometimes in a non-linear fashion, if
cause and consequence are at least sometimes unpredictable to us, then
uncertainty remains and the unexpected is a steady potential guest of all
attempts at creating novelty. Grand attempts to harness the emergence of
novelty would be likely to foreclose it and instead lead into dead ends. But
small attempts to work generatively with the unexpected, even inviting it
for its creative potential, would be likely to flourish.
Schumpeter was aware of this problem, and while he toyed with evolu-
tionary theory (variation–selection–retention) as a possible solution, he
rejected it as an insufficient explanation because in its original formulation
variations were thought to emerge in a non-linear and accidental fashion
(Becker, Knudson and March, 2006). As an economist, he felt that this
affiliation with non-linearity would limit the explanatory power of his
theory. What remains is a problem of perspective: objective science or
subjective art.
Proponents of linear emergence follow Einstein’s dictum that ‘God
doesn’t play dice with the universe.’ For them, any assumption of non-
linearity threatens the rule of normal science (Kuhn, 1970), where, as
Hegel noted, ‘[. . .] philosophical reflection has no other object than to
get rid of what is accidental’ (quoted by Marquard, 1989). In this vein,
scholars understand the emergence of novelty through entrepreneurship
as part of evolutionary systems, but – to address Schumpeter’s skepticism
– they put considerable effort into reducing the accidental and provide
linear explanations for variation. For industries and markets, Winter
and others have solved the emergence problem through linear modeling
of what they call the imperfect imitation of rules (Becker, Knudson and
March, 2006). Over time, economic actors copy one another’s and their
own routine behaviors, but glitches in their copies create or necessitate

new combinations of resources. Reflection or creativity of economic actors

plays no role at all in this.
While this is a brilliant solution for the exact sciences because it allows
explaining changes at the level of populations of economic actors, it leaves
much to be desired in terms of explaining how the individual entrepreneur
acts from within his or her context (Simon, 1969; Styhre, 2006). To cast
dreams, discoveries and imagination as imperfect imitations of existing
rules squeezes the life out of entrepreneurial activity: there are no choices,
reflections, or serendipitous discovery, nor are there second chances. The
unexpected is missing. Exactly this is of interest to proponents of non-
linear emergence. For them a deterministic ‘Weltanschauung’ inhibits the
human ability to act creatively. Thinkers like James, Bergson, Deleuze or
Marquard conceptualize individuals as actors, who perceive themselves as
part of a world where accidents and surprises are a part of everyday life
and provide an impetus to deal with its uncertainty in novel ways. They
invite the unexpected to open a field, to dream and imagine what might
be. The surprise and excitement that an unexpected, unforeseeable result
brings is the lifeblood for further actions on a discovery-oriented path.
Art has often been the example par excellence for thinkers who include
the unexpected into their ontology (Marquard, 1989; Bergson, 1999).
Artistic making as much as the experience of works of art are discussed
to show how actions and interpretations can defamiliarize us with our
context, lead us away from seeing everything from an instrumental point
of view, and lead us to perceiving new openings and possibilities. And
apparently we like and enjoy this effect of art and art making, otherwise
the art galleries and museums would not be so prominent the world over.
It points to art as a place where the everyday meaning of resources and
artifacts is constantly contested, and where new possibilities grow out of
renegotiating or temporarily opening the webs of meaning that allow us to
go on with everyday life.
More recently, scholars of entrepreneurship have turned to arts-based
processes to develop models of action that describe how individuals might
act methodologically from within their context, without having certainty
or foreknowledge of what might be (Sarasvathy, 2001). And it is exactly
this apparent disadvantage that they turn to their advantage, when they
use improvization and bricolage to bring about new combinations of
resources (Kamoche, Cunha and Cunha, 2002; Baker and Nelson, 2006).
Inviting the unexpected, then, opens a window to understand new com-
binations as not only guided by functionality, but also as referring to the
cultural context and aesthetic appreciation. For example, most artists
refuse to provide interpretations of their works, because these would
foreclose alternative interpretations by the audience. Instead of predicting

and guiding audience interpretations, artists create a space for unforeseen

and unusual takes on their works. Over time, the artwork loses the ques-
tions that created it and takes on the questions that it evokes. People who
expect non-linear effects are unlikely to be busy copying rules and routine
behaviors. It is more likely that they are seeking to actively change them.
Rather than aiming for blind combinations, entrepreneurs turn out to act
along fine sensibilities to bring about novelty.
While resolving the dispute over the two perspectives on emergence
is beyond the scope of the present chapter, it becomes clear that assum-
ing a simple mechanism for the sake of mathematical elegance needs to
be nuanced with an account of how entrepreneurs act from within their
context to create novelty. Where one tradition starts from the scientific
point of view and tries to abstractly represent the world in causal explana-
tions, the other tradition starts with the human being’s ability to appreci-
ate dynamic complexity in a world where all explanations are tentative,
situational, and often go beyond the purely scientific in that they also con-
sider beauty and morals. Science and art together will hopefully contribute
to a more inclusive perspective on Schumpeter’s idea of the emergence of
novelty through entrepreneurship.
RENEWAL
But if the creation of novelty depends on the emergence of new combina-

tions, and it requires inviting the unexpected, then we need to address the
question of what something new emerges from. For the unexpected to
have a place in a rigorous and stable process of creation, we need an idea
of the context of recombination. It is here that the unexpected shows its
difference to the merely accidental. Art theorists suggest renewal as the
answer.
Let’s go back to our illustrative example. MISSION ETERNITY
renews notions of remembrance and death cult by combining the valued
traditions of burial with the mundane world of information technology.
Many societies implement strict laws that govern burial traditions and
constrain innovation in the field. In many European countries, the use
of tombstones is regulated and they may not contain URLs for example.
In Germany, human remains may not be stored anywhere else but on
dedicated cemeteries. These examples illustrate the value of burial tradi-
tions in many Western societies, even societies that tend to be regarded as
liberal in many respects. Combining burial traditions with mundane tech-
nology may thus seem provocative if not outright heretic. The aesthetic
strategy that accompanies MISSION ETERNITY installations draws

on this tension by underlining the sobriety and calm frequently associ-

ated with the insight into human impermanence (the color white) with the
visibility and joyfulness of a technology-celebrating life style (the color
orange). Similar values characterize the acoustic and sensory approaches
to MISSION ETERNITY.
Novel combinations (like burial tradition and information technology)
emerge in the arts through changing notions of what is valuable. And
value is dependent on the meaning of the artifacts. But why are certain
cultural activities found novel, original and successful, and become inte-
grated in societal archives, while others are not? A first clue comes from art
criticism. According to Gombrich (1960) and Groys (1999) the likelihood
that an artwork is recognized as a novelty depends on the artist’s ability to
bring familiar, valued artifacts into a meaningful relationship to unfamil-
iar, trivial resources.
Gombrich (1960) asked why different times and people have represented
objects and concepts differently. Reviewing art history, he arrives at the
conclusion that art develops through a “making and matching” process,
where every new piece of art is perceived in terms of the prior experi-
ences and knowledge of the observer. The unfamiliar and the familiar
are brought together in ways that neither bury the unfamiliar nor shed
the familiar. There is no unreserved or immaculate perception of novelty.
Works of art that are too unusual are frequently not recognized as novel
because observers lack an established logic to describe them. These works
of art fail to enter the societal archives that determine relevance because
they remain unnoticed and unvalued.
Similarly, Groys (1999) assumes a duality between the culturally valued
in societal archives and the unvalued and trivial outside of them. The cul-
turally unvalued space is defined as the garbage can of cultural production
(knowledge, information, failures, unfinished work, and expressionless
artifacts) and the natural realm. The creation of novelty is an act that
temporarily bridges the gap between the valued and the unvalued. As a
result of each successful innovation, hitherto unvalued artifacts are lifted
into the realm of cultural value and prior valued artifacts are devalued.
For Groys, the creation and introduction of novelty in the arts is inher-
ently a process of renewal, rather than replacement of value assumptions
and perspectives. The created artifacts are not unique objects signifying
something beyond their sphere (Benjamin, 1969), but they renew cultural
understanding by juxtaposing trivial and valued artifacts. To formulate it
provocatively, today’s novelty is recognized because it contains a mix of
yesterday’s garbage and valuables.
This renewal process of revaluing and devaluing, of gaining and losing
value of artistic expressions never stands still. Today’s novelty will be

reactionary tomorrow and possibly again part of novelty after tomorrow

in another circle of renewal. The creation of novelty therefore involves a
balance of change and continuity. It is an appreciative act that works with
preexisting meanings rather than ignoring them. Such a process implies
‘[. . . ] the complex condition of going back as well as going forward, reaf-
firmation as well as change, and reproducing and sculpting as well as creat-
ing and constructing’ (Weick, 1996: 739). The twofold orientation towards
future and past makes renewal the source of the unexpected. Whether
something unexpected will lead to something exceptional, however, will
depend on individuals and art institutions recognizing is as a meaningful
novelty (Gombrich, 1960; Gadamer, 1986; Groys, 1999; Wijnberg and
Gemser, 2000).
With the idea of renewal, we distance ourselves from the enthusiasm for
novelty that characterizes modernism (for example Hegel, 1977), but also
avoid denying the possibility of novelty (for example Lyotard, 1984). In
contemporary art, the recognition of novelty does not depend on progress
(Gadamer, 1986; Groys, 1999). Novel artworks cannot claim to be more
adequate signifiers of truth than their predecessors. And without extra-
mundane domains as the source of absolute novelty, relative novelty in
the arts depends on the context in which it is recognized. Consequently,
novelty is neither per se utopist nor dystopist and it does not draw its value
from universality or reproducibility.
Authenticity, which is frequently suggested as a source of novelty in
the arts, is more an attempt to raise the value of an artifact than a useful
definition of novelty (Groys, 1999). An aura of authenticity is insufficient
for something to be recognized as novel in the age of technical repro-
duction (Benjamin, 1969). The material and ideal values that museums
and societal archives attribute to works of art identify novelty as a value
in an economic system (de Monthoux, 2004). The power to attribute value
to art works has passed in Western society from the guilds to the academy
and from there to the museums, dealers and art critics. The latter combine
market, peer, and expert opinions (Wijnberg and Gemser, 2000). With
such a distributed audience, no one can predict what will be valued and
unvalued across different groups of stakeholders, it can never be known
exactly who will find and appreciate something as novel.
Every attempt at creating novelty contains a risk for the artist. While
recombination of given resources (concepts, designs, artifacts) allow the
generation of new art works, choosing which old and which new ones
should go into an artifact is a matter of revaluation trajectory (Groys,
1999). Duchamps’s exhibition of a urinal is a prototypical artistic inno-
vation that achieves tension by combining a museum space with a toilet
facility. The fountain, as the artwork was called, combines the highest

societal value of the exhibition space with the culturally worthless abort.
The transaction reveals an innovation strategy that he would use exten-
sively during his work with readymades. Duchamps revalues a urinal and
devalues the exhibition space. The impact was considerable and art history
recorded a novelty that changed the value system (Velthuis, 2005).
The example shows that creating novelty requires more than just
random or accidental combinations. It requires the cultural, meaningful
unexpected. To be recognizable as novel, a product needs to combine the
old (valued) with the new (unvalued) in a way that makes it interesting
(Groys, 1999: 70). However, if artists ignore the cultural archives alto-
gether, it is likely that their work will fail to be recognized as a meaningful
novelty, because recipients do not see their understanding of art renewed
in the proposed artifact (Gombrich, 1960). And if the artist’s work tends
to be too close to the old, avoiding the unexpected that springs from
renewal, their work is seen as a mere copy of existing artworks in the
cultural archive. The unexpected is therefore consistently invited, because
its roots in recombination and hence renewal of valued and unvalued
resources provide stability and rigor to the artistic process of novelty crea-
tion which the accidental, the arbitrary, or the ludicrous are lacking.
From this perspective, what is culturally valued is obviously a social
construction. While the individual reception stands at the beginning of the
process, it does not alone constitute novelty, but needs public discourse
and the legitimacy of cultural institutions like museums, galleries and
other societal archives. It is meaning-making in a larger social context.
What is accepted at one level may be rejected at another. What some
identify as cultural value, others think of as valueless. As a consequence,
novel is everything that is recognized as different, yet equally valuable to
artifacts that are already in the cultural archive (Gadamer, 1986; Groys,
1999).
COMMUNITY
A great piece of art is frequently the result of long, hard work, sometimes
the output of decades of reflecting, self-questioning, revising, recasting,
and updating by the artists. But seldom is this work done in isolation.
More likely, inviting the unexpected needs community. The arts com-
munity, or for the case of entrepreneurship in general a community of
self-selected stakeholders, provides a social frame for emergence out of
renewal.
The MISSION ETERNITY example proves illustrative in this respect
as well. Self-sufficient provocation is pointless and etoy recognized that

provocation serves, at best, the purpose of raising initial awareness. The

community that is etoy has always had power in shaping company strat-
egy and influencing details in everyday work. The community orientation
made MISSION ETERNITY possible. The long-term interaction with the
community led to a consistency and seriousness in MISSION ETERNITY
that points far beyond any initial provocation. Early advice suggested
integration of the user’s perspective as the center of gravity of MISSION
ETERNITY. The user, the pilot, defines the critical content of MISSION
ETERNITY and the community either endorses or rejects the pilot’s
content by storing the ARCANUM CAPSULE in the distributed network
of servers and private computers.
A project that touches upon critical, culturally sensitive issues benefits
considerably from community orientation for two reasons. First, the
community can signal approval, skepticism, or rejection, and, second, the
community can create legitimacy and sustainability. The first feedback
shaped MISSION ETERNITY into a modular and focused endeavor that
could be implemented over the span of 10 years. The continued support by
the community, epitomized by the donation of Timothy Leary’s ashes in
2007, allowed MISSION ETERNITY to survive early financial crises and
legitimacy issues with critics.
As the etoy project shows, unless the ideal recombination can be envi-
sioned from the start, the artists start with the skills and resources at
hand to find out what revaluations and effects are possible. In their local
context, they contact potential stakeholders, iteratively considering dif-
ferent combinations and discovering constraints. Over several iterations,
the artists obtain an impression of the possible combinations and their
place between valuables and nonvaluables in society. We argue that these
iterations happen not only with regard to the artistic problem at hand, but
more importantly also concern the wider community.
Whether the artist is an individual or a group does not constitute the dif-
ference between segregation and participation, but rather whether content
is shared beyond the artist. Community building consists of revealing
sketches, models, ideas, or a preliminary version and the subsequent
involvement of a community that stretches beyond the artist in the creative
process (Miettinen, 2006). The community may be virtual and distributed,
it may involve the personal network of the artist or draw upon a public
information sphere, and its constitution may change with the progression
of projects. In any event, the community holds the necessary information
about what is valued and what is trivial.
Rather than working in isolation, involving a community offers advan-
tages only available to those who reveal content and invite participation
(Van de Ven, 2005). The advantages include expansion of the search

space, mutual learning, and knowledge accumulation. First, participation

expands the search space for the solution to individuals with heterogene-
ous skills, experiences, and needs. Second, participation facilitates the
exchange and learning within the community. Third, involving com-
munity members enlarges the portfolio of options available to the artist.
Needless to say, such a perspective on the artist is incompatible with the
genius notion of idealism. The unexpected is invited from a social context
of relevance.
To find out which understanding and uses can be employed to leverage
their own artifact, artists engage in a parallel quest for problems and solu-
tions in view of the chosen community. This process towards an artistic
problem has been termed problem-finding. Getzels and Csikszentmihalyi
(1976) studied groups of young artists and found that problem-finding is
not limited to the time prior to the creation of an artwork. Rather, artists
keep the problem deliberately open well into the process of creation.
Problem-finding is an exploratory behavior that invites changes in the
structure and content of the initial problem at any moment. Rather than
solving a defined problem with the artistic means at hand, artists recon-
sider the problem continuously in cycles of introspection, expression, and
reflection; the unexpected is invited. Trivial objects are translated into sen-
sible artworks or performances that give new meanings to what was previ-
ously there. In their study, Getzels and Csikszentmihalyi (1976) found that
art students who were persistent problem-finders performed better in their
later lives as professional artists. Getzels and Csikszentmihalyi (1976: 84)
further observed that ‘[. . .] discovered problems are common not only in
fine arts, but in all fields where creativity is at issue, from physics to poli-
tics, and from mathematics to poetics.’
Getzels and Csikszentmihalyi (1976) studied problem-finding in a
laboratory setting, with reference to the communities that the art student
and later artist might be a part of. Novelty, however, also requires the
combination of resources whose meanings and, hence, values are care-
fully considered in terms of their relative importance to the community.
Profoundness involves reflected combinations of past experiences and
given resources and building preferences during the process. The artists
need to maintain flexibility and adaptability to fit and combine resources
in a way that evokes the familiar and the unfamiliar in the community
(Groys, 1999). The artist’s strategy for building such an artifact requires a
revaluation: the familiar artifact is devalued while the ignored, the scrap
resource, appreciates. This transaction results from tentative combina-
tions, in physical or in abstract terms, of given resources under new use
with different meaning or in a new context. Problem-finding is likely to
contribute to the identification of tension which indicates a match.

IMPLICATIONS FOR ENTREPRENEURSHIP

In this chapter we have cast entrepreneurial activity as essentially artistic,
and art production as essentially entrepreneurial. The link stems from
the shared concern with novelty. Mutual learning across the domains
is frequently stifled by a lack of understanding of how artists work and
little analytical work on how novelty can come about in either business
or the arts. To alleviate this, we have concentrated on the unexpected.
The unexpected has been recognized as an initial source of novelty in the
broad entrepreneurship literature, but not as accompanying the process of
novelty creation. We hope to have shown that the unexpected is a neces-
sary and stabilizing component of the creation of novelty, where it draws
on emergence, has its source in renewal, and where the community of the
entrepreneur helps interpreting and building the new.
At this point, we would like to extract a few implications for entrepre-
neurs and join the work on effectuation (Sarasvathy, 2001) and bricolage
(Baker and Nelson, 2006) in arguing that entrepreneurs may best start
with the skills and resources at hand to then increase the options available,
rather than focusing on grand results by cutting away distractions.
Firstly, recognizing that emergence (not only recombination) plays an
important role in the creation of novelty may inspire entrepreneurs to con-
sider the unexpected as useful, and even a chance for playfulness and fun.
Space for this form of creative discovery might require slack; however this
slack should not be understood in terms of waste. In fact, as the case of
etoy showed, emergence played an important role and coincided with high
pressure and strict deadlines (see also Austin and Devin, 2003). Attention
to emergence and the unexpected that it might reveal rather calls for an
attitude of curiosity and flexibility when building a business.
Secondly, entrepreneurs stressing only the functional difference of their
artifact make their work a gamble – will stakeholders recognize it as an
intriguing and exciting novelty? Entrepreneurs approaching their problem
in terms of the familiar and unfamiliar, valued and unvalued, are more
likely to make progress. Renewal is hardly a one-shot activity. The reflec-
tion on meaning and value, tradition and garbage, recognition and disre-
gard, and similar dichotomies of interpreting culture requires sensibility,
care, and perseverance. Entrepreneurs are well advised to keep an eye on
the past as the source of the meaningful unexpected when they travel into
the future. It is likely to provide for the sense that helps combine resources
and to strike a chord with their stakeholders.
Thirdly, re-interpretation is difficult for many reasons, one being the
cultural embeddedness of the entrepreneur. Here, the community of
the entrepreneur can contribute diversity and resourcefulness when it

comes to new interpretations of solutions, experiments, or concepts. We

argue that novelty creation points broadly in two directions, towards the
problem and towards the community. Creators of novelty can search for
community participation to find out what could generally be recognized
as meaningfully novel. In this way, they avoid insisting upon the idiosyn-
cratic works that they find personally interesting and helpful and they
avoid making the incremental improvements to existing artifacts that their
community finds easily accessible but uninspiring. In this light, the ideal
type of the lone genius, entrepreneur, or inventor seems a suspicious con-
struction, maybe primarily driven by a need for simple role models in the
popular entrepreneurship literature.
But how aware are artist-entrepreneurs of the need to invite the
unexpected? How conscious are etoy members of it? Recent research in
artistic practices suggests that the unexpected is indeed part and parcel
of the process of creation and an overall innovation strategy (Getzels
and Csikszentmihalyi, 1976; Austin and Devin, 2003; Velthuis, 2005).
To create novelty through problem-finding in communities, artists must
avoid falling into the traps of generating idiosyncratic works or foot-
notes to existing works. The process is characterized by iterative attempts
(Osborne, 2003), starting with the revaluation and combination of given
materials and with what can be done rather than with what ought to be
done.
The challenge is to maintain multiple options rather than eliminat-
ing ideas at the outset. Austin and Devin (2003) describe how actors use
iterations to develop their roles and the scenes, and to finish the stage-
preparations before the opening night. Yet, artists do not try an infinite
amount of combinations until a fit is discovered. While the probabilistic
argument suggests that the chances of a match increase with the number of
potential combinations, the iterative process suggests that revaluations are
directional and failure-based in order to approach a solution. The itera-
tions include both the artist’s and the stakeholders’ assessment of novelty:
an appraisal of the tension inherent in the new combination. Every itera-
tion that combines resources is a trial to see whether it somehow “fits”.
However, the unexpected is not completely experimental since the idea
itself is part of the discovery, and neither can the creation of novelty be
thought of as a causal test because of the ‘promise within our mistakes’
(Austin and Devin, 2003: 23). And because the aspired outcome is novelty,
uncertainties in the environment and idiosyncrasies in the path to the
solution prevent the formulation of exact steps and phases.

CONCLUSION
It was our thesis at the beginning of this chapter that we might learn more
from the arts about the creation of novelty in entrepreneurship than from
the study of new ventures. For this we have placed the term entrepreneur-
ship between the realms of art and business, and have discussed it as if
artists and people in business share a common process to create novelty.
We arrived at the idea that inviting the unexpected is essential to the crea-
tion of novelty in both fields. Further, we saw that inviting the unexpected
doesn’t contradict a rigorous and generative process of entrepreneuring,
because it is a basic component of how new combinations emerge from a
process of renewal in communities of self-selected stakeholders.
Scholars of business entrepreneurship have started to work in this
direction with studies of effectuation and improvization in new ventures.
Nevertheless, there seems to be more to be learned about this process,
and art theorists are still a snippet ahead of the business scholars. This
should, however, not be discouraging in any shape or form. Rather, it
should inspire to learn from each other and to further the understanding
and practices in both fields. We conjecture that the defining elements as
outlined in this chapter are also prevalent in other areas of entrepreneurial
activity, such as politics, philanthropy, or science.
NOTES
1. One of the authors, Stefan Haefliger, is a member of etoy. His account of the events
reported here is based on his experience and does not necessarily represent the views and
opinions of etoy.
2. Etoy’s work has been documented online (http://www.etoy.com/projects/) and in a
number of essays and edited volumes: see Grether (2001), Tribe and Jana (2006), Fan
and Zhang (2008), and Grand (2008).
3. The so-called ANGEL APPLICATION provides a distributed backup system and
is released as Free software. For more information refer to: http://angelapp.
missioneternity.org/ and to the technical report available on the same site.
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6. Innovation processes: experience
drawn from the creation of Dalhalla
Per Frankelius
Entrepreneurship and innovation have much in common, but the terms

are not synonymous. The establishment of a successful company can be
the result of brilliant entrepreneurship. That is, however, not to say that
the venture must have any substantial originality – there does not have to
be innovation involved.
What then is innovation all about? I will argue it is about something
principally new – in whatever area – which is created and also gains a solid
footing on a market or in society. Something new intended for a market is
not a fulfilled innovation until the new thing also “breaks into” that market.
The process by which the new thing becomes accepted by the market (or by
users in other spheres of society if the innovative concept is not intended for
a commercial market) is affected partly by the actions undertaken by the
driving agent, partly by external forces. The associated actions and events
are closely related to what is typically perceived of as entrepreneurship.
Therefore, in my view almost all innovation partly depends on entrepre-
neurship, but far from all entrepreneurship is associated with innovation.
What is the scope of innovation? Most often innovation researchers
and innovation policy makers focus on products and technology (not on
art or culture). Moreover, the innovation process is usually considered as
the transformation of technical ideas and knowledge into new products or
services or production processes. However, I will challenge these and other
traditional notions in the innovation discourse. I especially want to argue
for the possibility of defining innovation more broadly than it just being a
matter of “products and technology”. This chapter then focuses on issues
in the interface shown in Figure 6.1.
Having said that, I will, as indicated above, also promote a narrowing
of the innovation concept. If someone wants to put in a claim for calling
something – a product or technology, an art object, or some other concept
– an innovation, the object or concept has to display a high degree of
newness or originality, and at the same time have a high degree of impact
on society (the gain-a-footing aspect).
98

Innovation processes: the creation of Dalhalla 99
Art/Culture
Innovation
Figure 6.1 The conceptual frame of reference
The first message to policy makers will be that innovations outside the
context of products and technology can be very profitable (for example for
a region). In other words, “non-traditional” innovation should be taken
seriously. The second message is that far from all things that are normally
referred to as innovations in reality are innovations according to the argu-
ably true meaning and implications of that concept.
The discussion takes off from an empirical case – the creation of
Dalhalla, a novel opera arena in the countryside of Sweden. The text
follows the development of Dalhalla from the process leading up to its
inception in 1991 to 2010, with a particular focus on the experiences of the
founder and entrepreneurial figurehead, Margareta Dellefors. I will use
this case to see what salient questions it invokes, and start by converting
the different observations into statements about what could be changed in
our perception and understanding of innovation.
The point of departure of the analysis that then follows is the fact that
there must be variety for selection to take place. I refer here to the selec-
tion of art phenomena on the art market or art arena. In other words,
selection requires variation (Darwin, 1859). The creation of things that
extends variety is, in some cases, a matter of innovative processes – and
here is an important difference from Darwin’s biological world of muta-
tions that “just happen”. Innovation is the driving force especially in those
cases where variation refers to different kinds of phenomena in some field.
However, it is quite common in the literature on selection to take for
granted the components (or pieces or units) that make up variation. To

sum up – if we really want to understand why the outcome of selection is

what it is, we also have to understand the processes that created variety in
the first place.
Moreover, it is common in the literature to talk in terms of selection by
the environment. That kind of discussion seems to assume that selection
(given the existence of variety) is only a matter of how the environment
behaves and decides. However, selection is partly the result of influences
from an active agent promoting new things, such as an artist, innovator,
or entrepreneur on the art arena. A first point in this analysis therefore is
that selection should not be treated as a deterministic phenomenon. Part
of the proactive actions that may affect the selection process is framing. I
will discuss this concept more deeply later on. Regarding the meaning of
selection environments, I also want to challenge the traditional view that
focuses on typical economic factors (such as customers and competitors)
and put forward arguments that we also need to include different kinds of
“X factors” when defining the environment.
A special point in the analysis is the discussion around differences or
problems that are revealed when the driving agent encounters the envi-
ronment during the innovation process. I will argue that both creation
and marketing of new ideas, like new opera arena concepts, are processes
affected by factors representing differences between the characteristics
of the entrepreneur and ditto of social actors in the environment. What
happens when for example an opera lover meets a folk music lover?
The analysis will further include notions about credits or rewards. Who
gets the reward from innovation processes on the art arena? Does the
person behind the initiative get it, or do other people – entering later in
the process – get most of the rewards? What kind of rewards can we talk
about? Can praise be a substitute for more tangible things like economic
compensation?
RESEARCH METHOD
The methodological approach in this project is an in-depth case study of

Dalhalla. This opera and classical music arena is located outside the small
town of Rättvik in Dalarna, Sweden (see Figure 6.2).
My interest in the Dalhalla case started during the development of a
new master course, called Creative Business Management, around the year
2000. This work was undertaken in co-operation with four institutions at
Örebro University and not least with various professional organizations
and experienced practitioners. Together with this team, and thanks to my
colleague Carin Andersson, I got the opportunity to visit Dalhalla behind

Figure 6.2 The location of Dalhalla
the scenes in the summer of 2001. The CEO of Dalhalla, Håkan Ivarson,
gave us a detailed presentation, and we also got the opportunity to inves-
tigate the physical facilities in detail. That day I also met the founder,
Margareta Dellefors, for the first time. In the evening we experienced the
fantastic firework concert that ended the season.
During 2002, I continued communication with Ivarson, Dellefors and
other people. My interpretation from the first part of the research project
was that in the early phases the course of events to a large extent was
determined by one person. Reality is complex, and can always be inter-
preted in different ways. It is important to choose a perspective and also to
communicate the choice that has been made. In my further investigations,
I chose to focus on the background and early development of Dalhalla. I
also made a choice to describe the case primarily from the creator’s point
of view, and I wanted to do it at the micro level. I agree with Gunnar
Eliasson, Professor Emeritus at the Royal Institute of Technology in
Stockholm, who writes:
Economic growth can be described at the macro level, but it can never be
explained at that level. To understand economic growth, and to design policy
we have to take the analysis down to the micro market level where live individu-
als and firms behave and new innovative technologies are created. (Eliasson,
2003: 75, italics in original)

What Eliasson writes regarding growth analysis is true also for under-
standing art entrepreneurship and innovation.
Over the course of the research effort, I used many data collection
methods. Most important were a number of semi-structured and open-
ended interviews with Margareta Dellefors. The reason for this was that
she – and nobody else – had inside information on what really happened
during the early development phases. She was not only my primary source.
She was also my primary study object. In the beginning, relatively formal
interviews were held, but over time more informal conversations took
over. We met for discussions in different contexts, including Margareta’s
home apartment and my own home. Personal meetings were comple-
mented with lots of telephone talks, e-mail conversations, letters and
documents. Some parts of the conversations were in Swedish, but we also
talked a lot in English so my quotes from Dellefors really are her own
words. My last conversation with Margareta Dellefors for this project
took place in Stockholm in December 2010.
The method also included participation at various events and photo-
graphing. I have visited Dalhalla many times. I also got help from our
master students for deepening the understanding of the context in which
Dalhalla was created. In fact, we located the entire master course that was
mentioned earlier in Rättvik, partly because we wanted to be next to the
activities of the Dalhalla adventure. My Leica camera was an important
research tool. I photographed a lot, both different concerts and details in
and around the arena. Besides this, I got help from photographers that
had documented Dalhalla during different periods: Martin Litens, Leif
Forslund, and Lennart Edvardsson. Also, Margareta Dellefors provided
photos. I consider photos not as “nice spices” of the case study, but as
important material for interpretations that are complementary to oral and
written statements.
Apart from photos I used lots of archival material, not least material
that Margareta Dellefors had collected over the years. It included letters,
applications, legal documents and articles. Regarding media information
I consider it not only an empirical source, but also something that was
part of the story. The comprehensive empirical material was then used as a
source from which the story presented in this chapter was extracted.
How, then, did I analyse the collected material? I used four methods
in this process. The first was to construct an appropriate and detailed
timeline of small and big events over time. The timeline thereby became
my underlying structure for interpreting the whole process. The second
method involved a commitment to understanding connections. I directed
questions towards the empirical material like ‘Why did this happen?’
‘What was the background of this contact?’ ‘Which factors lay behind that

behaviour from this person?’ I considered everything I saw only as symp-

toms or effects, and tried to track the underlying reasons or explanations
for the events observed.
The third method was to discuss the empirical observations and pre-
liminary interpretations with research colleagues at scientific meetings.
Among them were the Workshop on Movements of Entrepreneurship
(June 2004), the Nordic Conference of Small Business Research (May
2006), the Workshop on Entrepreneurship on the Art Arena (October
2006), the International Conference of Thinking (June 2007), the World
Entrepreneurship Summit in London (January 2008), and the University
of Illinois at Chicago International Research Symposium on Marketing
and Entrepreneurship (June 2008). One of the things I learned from these
meetings was that narratives were important both for understanding and
for presenting case studies.
The fourth method of interpreting the case was in line with the philoso-
phy that Gibbons et al. (1994) have called knowledge production Mode 2.
One dimension of this approach is the assumption that practitioners can
be as important as academic researchers in research processes, not least
by providing new questions and alternative interpretations. For example,
in October 2003, together with Janerik Gidlund (at the time Dean at my
university), I arranged a forum at Hotel Rival in Stockholm. I invited
Margareta Dellefors and also other entrepreneurs as “reference cases”.
We placed a huge plasma TV monitor next to Margareta showing episodes
of the Dalhalla story. The about 100 guests at this forum came from the
public sector, academia and private firms. The open climate offered by this
gathering paved the way for interesting discussions and comments on the
cases presented.
Another “Mode 2 example” was a meeting in Falun in the autumn
of 2007, where a lot of people from the cultural sector in the county of
Dalarna participated. The meeting was arranged by Maria Norrfalk,
County Governor in Dalarna. Among the participants was Håkan
Ivarson, CEO of Dalhalla. Representatives of the national cultural sector
in Sweden were also there. I had a particularly interesting talk with Lena
Adelsohn Liljeroth, Swedish Minister of Culture. We discussed issues like
funding, entrepreneurship and knowledge needed for cultural entrepre-
neurship. The main lessons from this meeting were the following. First,
the timing of new initiatives is very important. Great concepts can fail
because of bad timing. Second, it seems to be common that institutions
and systems in society fail to act swiftly enough in their support of good
things. Only after some time will policy makers get information about and
understand the new thing, and only then are they willing to support it in a
substantial way. The problem is that it is expensive (for the entrepreneur

or creator) to keep new ventures alive and kicking during the waiting time.
We discussed this issue both with Dalhalla as an illustration, and with the
master course Creative Business Management as another illustration. To
sum up these discussions – it is hard to be the first mover in any field (cf.
Schumpeter, 1934).
THE DALHALLA STORY

Background
500 million years ago the landmass that today is the county of Dalarna in
Sweden was part of the one-continent formation called Pangea, which in
turn was moving slowly. During that time the landmass Dalarna was situ-
ated south of the equator and above the landmasses there was a warm and
shallow sea. During this period, called the Cambrian, primitive life forms
developed. Many of them lived in the warm sea, and they had skeletons
and shells made of calcium. Over time, sedimentation of such life forms
created the material called limestone. Later, about 360 million years ago,
a meteorite entered earth at a speed of 100,000 km/hour and hit this spe-
cific landmass. The result was a huge crater and piles of limestone. Over
time, the continents moved apart and were divided into sub continents.
The place we know as Dalarna today is the remainder of the warm sea
area described above. The lake Siljan is a reminder of the meteorite. This
natural history is the background to the limestone asset outside Rättvik.
When Carl Linnaeus travelled in Dalarna in 1734 he noticed that people
around the town Rättvik made their living partly by help of limestone. He
wrote: ‘The parish of Rättvik burn limestone and sell it all over Dalarna
region’ (Linnaeus, 1734: 63, my translation). Notice that Linnaeus focused
not on nature in itself, but on the economic use of nature (compare
Frankelius, 2007). Entrepreneurship developed. In 1898, a more industrial
enterprise started to dig out limestone from the place. The name of this
company was Kullsbergs Kalkförädlings AB, and the name of the quarry by
tradition was and still is Draggängarna. The company had its good times,
but in 1991 everything was over. The business around the limestone quarry
ceased. A gigantic hole was left in the bedrock after centuries of digging.
What would become of this monument from the heyday of mining?
Could it perhaps, as someone suggested, be used as a swimming lake or a
municipal rubbish dump? Another idea was hatched on 18 May 1991 by
an opera singer, later a radio producer, named Margareta Dellefors, then
aged 65. The idea was to create a summer stage for opera in the enormous
quarry. She had been responsible for the opera production department

at Swedish public radio since 1980, and this job had included report-
age visits to different festivals round Europe, such as Verona, Bregenz,
Glyndebourne and Savonlinna. Dellefors reconstructs that moment of
imagination: ‘As soon as I saw it I knew: this is the place for the interna-
tional opera festival I had for quite some time been looking for.’ She also
commented on it in this way:
What to do with an industrial ruin – in this case a limestone quarry no longer

in use? To the district county of Rättvik this was an obvious problem. To me it
was no problem at all. Draggängarna was the answer of a dream that I had had
for quite some time . . . Love at first sight. Go ahead and do it.
But how, really, was Dellefors connected with the limestone quarry? Let
her words speak: ‘I started trying to find a place for a similar international
festival in Sweden, but maybe something different. I have a summerhouse
in Rättvik and knew that there, in the beginning of the last century, was
the limestone industry.’ For some years she had been asking different
people for tips about a good place. In November 1990, she explored the
woods around Rättvik searching for old quarries. She had a local map,
but she did not find any of them. They were well hidden, partly for safety
reasons. One of the persons Dellefors asked was Rättvik’s cultural direc-
tor, Åsa Nyman, around New Year’s Day 1990–91. On 18 May, Dellefors
got the strategic information about the site Draggängarna from Nyman.
They went by car to the quarry the same day. When she came to the place,
she sang and recited poetry. Let her memory speak:
Draggängarna was beautiful. The cliffs had different pastel colours because of
different kinds of rocks in vertical lines: black, pink, bluish, white and brown.
At the bottom of this there was a little emerald-coloured lake, not ever ceasing,
because it was under groundwater level. And the enormous size!
The First Act of Creation
Lots of activities started after the first impression. ‘I got a kick from the
very first moment I set eyes on it. To be sure I invited lots of friends –
conductors, musicians, singers – people whose judgement I could trust
and started to work for my, as I thought, splendid idea.’ Dellefors wanted
second opinions – confirmation – from people she trusted. At the same
time, she wanted to market the project to opinion leaders. How did she
choose these opinion leaders? ‘As I had a long career behind me in the
Swedish music world I knew persons or organizations I thought could be
of value for my idea. And most of them knew who I was.’ Not least one
should remember Dellefors had been an opera singer for 15 years.

After having taken photos of the place, she magnified the best one and
went to a bookshop to buy clear film. She wanted to visualize her vision
by drawing on the photos taken. She drew a scene in the middle of the
lake, and a grand stand opposite it. This pedagogical trick was to be used
at a forthcoming meeting with a construction company in September
1991, and in December with decision makers from the municipality
Rättvik.
Among the chosen opinion leaders there were some journalists. Did
she communicate differently with them? ‘No, everyone who was inter-
ested in Dalhalla was important for me, but – of course – those who had
the opportunity to write about it, got perhaps some written material, for
instance the little brochure I soon wrote.’ Apart from herself and opinion
leaders in the music sector, there were many more people to convince in
this very early part of the process, not least the locals: ‘Everyone in the
little country town of Rättvik considered me more or less crazy, but as I
presented letters and documents from musical and well-known Swedish
authorities I did manage to overcome the first scepticism.’
The period between the first visit in May 1991 and the first written
project plan in July 1992 was about intense marketing, including hundreds
of contacts and meetings. The project plan in the summer of 1992 had
many targets. It was addressed ‘to those who were able to make this idea
develop, and the key was the county community of Rättvik.’ The county
community was a vital part of the social context of the innovative process.
Besides marketing, much work was devoted to investigating the condi-
tions and practical problems at Draggängarna in detail. The fascinating
hole was found to be 400 metres long, 175 metres wide, and as deep as 60
metres. Its walls were nearly vertical and the acoustics were on a par with
Greek amphitheatres. The acoustic quality of the limestone quarry was
something that Dellefors noticed directly. She also understood that this
was a very important aspect of the place. Another important aspect was
that it was located far from the noise of cities, roads and factories.
But a lot of money was needed, and the main problem was to find and
persuade sponsors. In retrospect, about 50 million Swedish crowns (about
USD 7.5 million) would be needed to fulfil the dream. But Dellefors con-
cludes: ‘The first 100,000 were the most difficult to get.’ She needed to
convince a lot of people of her vision. The perfect marketing concept for
that, she thought, was to arrange a trial concert. Such an event costs a lot
of money. Dellefors recalls: ‘After about two years I managed to raise the
necessary money to hold a trial concert, which would prove among other
things the extraordinarily good acoustics Dalhalla had.’ The fund-raising
process, thus, was crucial. The problem was that many observers did not
believe that Dellefors was serious. She reflects:

It always arouses suspicions, when something new is initiated. ‘We cannot do

this, it has never been done before’, ‘We must do this, because, that is what we
always have done’, ‘Opera – that is something where people only shout and you
can’t hear a word of what they are singing’, ‘And who is she, who wants to come
here and tell us, what we shall do’.
Others thought it was a nice idea, but would never dream of investing
money in such a project. Dellefors encountered resistance from scep-
tics everywhere including experts in engineering and economic matters.
Articles in newspapers were also written about the impossibility of the
project: ‘I don’t know if that was because I was a woman and with
Stockholm as my home address, or my age. And as opera is something so
out of nowhere for most – I would say particularly people in Dalarna, the
landscape of Swedish folk music.’ Yet, she did arouse great enthusiasm
from a few. In January 1993, the County Administrative Board decided
to support the project with 50,000 crowns. The Municipality then also
decided to support it with the same amount.
In May 1993, it was time for a meeting: ‘I invited the local people to a
meeting in the library hall in Rättvik on Tuesday 25th May, and showed a
video taken by my brother. I talked about all possibilities and what it could
also mean economically for little Rättvik.’ She got unexpected support: ‘One
person – totally ignorant of classical music or opera – was curious enough
and asked some very important questions: Roland Pettersson.’ He was a
local automobile dealer and embraced the idea even though he himself had
never set foot in an opera house. He also helped her with the coming trial
concert. How did this meeting come about? The meeting was made known
through advertising in Rättviksnytt and Leksandsbladet, two free papers
delivered to every household in the area. And the library hall was crowded.
Altogether, Dellefors was able to gradually awaken commitment among
numerous people, both private individuals and foundations. But even so,
a lot of money was needed. A project group was appointed in the spring of
1993, with Dellefors as project leader. On 18 June 1993, the planned trial
concert was held with a specially invited audience. How did they choose
the persons to invite to this concert? ‘I and K.-G. Holmén, the chairman
[of the County Administrative Board], decided on whom we should invite.
He on the local basis, I on the national level.’ She adds: ‘And I chose
people who were connected with music and opera in particular and music
writers and critics and of course people connected with state organizations
who supported culture with money.’ In total, there were 120 persons on
the list. The trial concert was successful. To take the edge off the criticism
that the idea did not suit Rättvik’s folk music culture, Dellefors spiced the
programme with traditional fiddlers and birch-bark horn blowers. She will
never forget this concert:

The local people . . . had contributed with big bowls full of wonderful wild
summer flowers and were all there in their national costumes. Birgit Nilsson sat
there in her mink coat. I introduced the programme by singing the first lines of
Elisabeth’s aria from Tannhäüser, ‘Dich teure Halle, grüss ich wieder . . . ’ Big!
Eight young singers sang opera arias, folk music was played, and a choir
of Latvian singers sang ‘Hallelujah’ from Messiah by Handel. For those
who do not know about Birgit Nilsson, she was a world famous opera
singer. (She died in December 2005 at the age of 88.)
The trial concert was a vital ingredient in the marketing strategy: ‘The
aim was to prove the substance in the project for everyone that mattered
in Swedish music life.’ That was not only musicians and opera managers,
but also the head of the Royal Academy of Music and of course the press
and television, both local and nationwide. In fact, part of the problem was
to convince the members of the project group that Dellefors really had the
important contacts she talked about.
The first fundraising phase was intended to finance this test concert.
The second phase started on the next Monday, 21 June 1993. That day
Dellefors also applied for the protection of the name Dalhalla. And more
things were done: ‘I do not know how many applications I have written. It
must be a couple of hundred.’ Every success during the early process was
used to promote later steps to fulfil the vision. Dellefors continues: ‘After
the important and successful trial concert I invited people to become
members in the Society of Friends of Dalhalla. It soon became a very
big society with more than 3,000 members. Our world famous Wagner
soprano Birgit Nilsson, my great friend, was our honorary chairman.’
The trial concert was followed by concrete construction work.
The first years Dellefors mostly worked alone on the project. One
helping hand had arrived already in December 1992, the architect Erik
Ahnborg. He is the man behind the famous concert hall in Stockholm,
Berwaldhallen. Dellefors felt that he was the right person to help her
fulfil her vision. She showed him the photo with her amateur drawing
of her vision (made on clear film as mentioned earlier). By September
1993 he had made the new professional drawing of Dalhalla as an opera
arena. This drawing has remained relevant throughout the years and
Ahnborg became an important project companion. Dellefors recalls one
of the episodes:
I remember one occasion, when Ahnborg was discussing with the NCC engi-
neer at one end of the table and I at the other end was talking to Boverket [the
Swedish state agency for living matters] in Karlskrona negotiating for more
money. That was in the spring 1994, when 400,000 crowns were still missing.
We succeeded with this.

What happened then? Dellefors explains: ‘For the summer 1994 we had
got enough money to do the first real test, if Dalhalla would become an
asset for the opera lovers of Sweden. Important people were invited to
an opera concert on 23 July.’ A provisional stage had been built on the
lake, with a channel between the stage and the audience, and there were
seats for 1,620 people. The concert was sold out in no time. Part of the
reason was that now Dalhalla had got recognition from the state, as the
Ministry of Culture had given 250,000 crowns. In their press release they
described Dalhalla as the future Verona of the north, an attribute that is
still connected to Dalhalla. But all this needed the boosting of market-
ing. Dellefors comments: ‘I advertised in the big national papers, in the
international opera magazines, and of course in the local press, and I was
invited all over the country to speak about my project.’
In the summer of 1995, the audience capacity was expanded to 2,670
seats. Parking places were arranged and a protected path was laid down
into the quarry. The stage, with an aesthetic roof of sailcloth, was placed
on a peninsula in the emerald-coloured water, far down in the quarry.
About 40,000 tons of limestone were blasted and used as material for
the stage. The 11 metre broad channel between stage and audience was
ready.
Official Inauguration of Dalhalla
The official inauguration of Dalhalla took place on 21 June 1995

with a major opera concert that was broadcast on Swedish television.
Unfortunately, that very day the area suffered an awful storm and the
concert had to be stopped halfway through. Dellefors comments: ‘But – as
someone said – a dramatic place like Dalhalla must have a dramatic over-
ture.’ Despite (or partly because of?) the disaster Dalhalla soon became
known throughout Sweden and its fame spread abroad like wildfire. The
television broadcast was very important. Dellefors confirms: ‘The Swedish
television did manage a whole planned programme, even if the total
concert did not take place. From the very beginning TV has shown a lot
of Dalhalla, which of course has been of gold’s value, as you don’t exist if
you are not on the telly.’
The year 1995 was the year of breakthrough. Besides the concert in
June, Dalhalla also co-operated with the festival Musik at Siljan, Rättvik
Dance, and a jazz concert was organized. But most of the time Dellefors
used for planning the next season. This planning process was a mix of her
own thinking and external impulses. We shall now look more closely into
this.

Staging the Opera Ring of the Nibelungs
The staging in 1997 of a short version of Wagner’s opera Ring of the

Nibelungs was a triumph. This big event took years to plan and complete.
How did this all happen? Everything started with an igniting spark in the
form of external inspiration. Consider the following citation:
You see, I read an article in the magazine Musikdramatik written by the editor
Torbjörn Eriksson. It described how Iceland in 1994 celebrated their 50 years
of freedom as a republic. Part of the ceremony was a performance of Richard
Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelungs in a short version of 4 hours.
This special version was partly arranged by Lars Lönnroth, professor of

literature at the University of Gothenburg (Sweden) and specialist in the
Nordic languages. The show was held together by two storytellers. And
Dellefors reflected (her own comment): ‘This seemed to be interesting and
also viable for us.’ She saw this as an opportunity to fulfil the dream of an
opera arena at Dalhalla. And she went into action: ‘Already in January
1995 I contacted Iceland.’ The work for this project was enormous. A lot
of money was needed. Many people and organizations had to be coordi-
nated, and marketing was vital. Dellefors comments:
I started the marketing work for this coming event already in autumn 1995.
With the help of Bengt Göransson [former minister of culture] we got a dis-
tinguished opportunity. He offered the big ABF conference centre for us to
organize a seminar under the heading ‘Richard Wagner – genius and monster
in the same person’. . . The seminar took place 25 November. We started at
9 in the morning and finished at 5 in the afternoon. We had advertised in
Stockholm newspapers and the hall was almost crowded. It was not surprising.
The Court singer Birgit Nilsson made the introduction, and was interviewed
by Musikradion’s Tom Sandberg. On request from all, she also delivered her
famous Ho-jo to-ho from the Valkyrie, and the high C hit the roof like a rivet
[‘höga C satt som nitat i taket’ in Swedish].1
The brilliant marketing effort was thus one of marketing of marketing

tools. Dellefors marketed the event that in turn was a marketing tool for
the actual big opera event the following year. And she got results not only
from potential visitors. The day before the seminar she received informa-
tion about the decision by the foundation Crafoordska stiftelsen (in Lund,
Sweden), to contribute one million crowns for the opera event planned for
the following year.
She succeeded. The special version of the Wagner opera was performed
in the summer of 1997, and it became a sensation. Imagine three enor-
mous people on stage – the Rhine maidens – probably 3 metres high.

The magazine of the opera in Vienna, Der Neue Merker, named Dalhalla
the most powerful opera scene in Europe, partly because of visual effects
towards the end that had never been made in such a beautiful way. Also
CNN came to this event, and produced a five-minute reportage, shown all
over the world.
Other leading publications, many of them opera-related, were writing
about Dalhalla. Brian Kellow, the chief editor of the premier opera
magazine in the United States, Opera News, wrote an article about the new
original arena Dalhalla. The German magazines Orpheus and Opernglas
wrote articles. The English and well-respected magazine Opera Now was
also among the magazines that wrote about Dalhalla. I interpret this to
mean that opera experts considered the Dalhalla phenomenon original –
as a new innovative thing in the opera world.
Organizational Changes
The workload was rising. In May 1996, a company called Dalhalla

Produktion AB was established, wholly owned by the Society of Friends.
This company was to take care of the productions. The company
appointed a CEO, Nils Aittamaa. From this point on, Dellefors became
the Art Manager of Dalhalla, and could concentrate on art content.
Unfortunately, cooperative problems emerged and deepened during 1997.
At the end of 1997, Dellefors told the steering committee of Dalhalla
that they had to choose between her and Aittamaa. She won this ultima-
tum. And she suggested that Håkan Ivarson should be the new CEO. He
was then manager of the orchestra DalaSinfoniettan. He was approached
in January 1998 and became half-time employed from 9 March the same
year. Dellefors continued to be responsible for art direction. According
to Dellefors he got a salary of 22,000 crowns (for half-time work) and
Dellefors got 15,000 crowns full time. She commented: ‘But – as usual – it
was my risk. I had invented Dalhalla, and therefore no such fair and equi-
table demands were needed’. Dellefors got so much praise from Ivarson
and many others that she accepted a salary that was low compared to the
CEO’s, who in Dellefors’s words ‘had nothing to do whatsoever with the
creation of Dalhalla’. In retrospect she thinks about this in a different way.
Dalhalla Towards Becoming an Institution
During 1999, Dalhalla became quite institutionalized. At the annual

meeting on 14 May 1999 Dellefors and Ivarson presented a strategy for
continued development. I have read it and find it very professional (from
a business point of view). The strategy included formulation of a business

112
Ring of the Nibelungs in Dalhalla early in the evening 14 August 1997. The acoustic quality of the limestone quarry was
extremely good. Note that this photo shows what the stage area looked like before the new and much bigger sail-roof was
installed in the year 2000. That year an orchestra pit and a building behind the stage for the artists were also constructed.
Photo: Leif Forslund.
26/01/2011 11:15
mission and plans for expansion. Let me cite just two sentences: ‘Dalhalla
shall be an international festival arena offering music events of high quality
and with music dramaturgy as the centre of gravity. The programme shall
have a character, that harmonizes with the natural conditions and the
unique environment . . .’
The big thing in 1999 was a concert with the mega opera star José Cura.
This time it was the artist himself who approached Dellefors (through his
agent). Probably he had heard of Dalhalla via the CNN reportage. This
event was very complicated. For example, the Philharmonic Orchestra of
London was engaged. Here is Dellefors’s comment on all this: ‘I browse
in one of my folders and conclude that about 160 different letters and
faxes were needed to fulfil this guest appearance.’ It is hard to imagine all
the work and all the details that she attended to over the years, but this
example gives us a feeling for the achievement. During 1999, Dellefors also
managed to get a main sponsor, the petroleum company OK/Q8.
Of course, there were also many practical problems – some of them
unexpected. In the summer of 1999, for example, a tornado destroyed the
sail-roof. Dellefors comments:
It happened on August 13 in 1999, the very same evening we were giving our
own version of Richard Wagner’s Ring. That really was a blow, as part of the
scenography and the light depended on this roof. We played it anyway without
the roof and it still was a success.
During the process Dellefors accumulated knowledge about subjects of

many different kinds, like the behaviour of the wind: ‘One of the difficul-
ties with a “hole” as an amphitheatre instead of one built upon the ground
is that the wind always tends to find its way downwards.’
How does she feel about all these expected and unexpected problems?
Well – to go back to the beginning of this. After having made up my mind to

turn Draggängarna into the festival arena Dalhalla, I never thought of the dif-
ficulties that might occur, and when they did I managed to keep my ‘goal’ in
sight and found new ways to continue. And so it has been all the time. But when
I look back and think about all the work it has demanded, I am happy that I did
not know that from the very beginning.
The fundraising process was always in focus. And she was sometimes very
successful. Dellefors fills in: ‘11.4 million Swedish crowns were given by
a rich couple in the neighbourhood.’ She managed to get more and more
money from sponsors. The Barbro Osher Pro Suecia Foundation, based
in San Francisco, gave Dalhalla 2 million crowns for opera productions
(in the years 2000 and 2002). Later, the Barney Osher foundation also
donated money and a first class theatre text machine. Dellefors showed

her creativity in terms of funding models. One method was selling seats
to companies and individuals. We can see their names on metal plates on
the seats today. This method alone raised over a million crowns. Another
important part of the financing process was Dellefors’s ability to round up
idealistic help from professionals. Dellefors gives one example: ‘We have
all the time had a first class architect more or less idealistically working for
Dalhalla, for me and for the music.’
By June 2000, Dalhalla had become a well-developed opera arena. They
had a big concert on 7 June with the Swedish King and Queen as invited
guests. At this time, Dalhalla had 4,000 seats, heating for the orchestra pit
from geothermal power 180 metres down and likewise in the artists’ build-
ing behind the stage. A steady roof was supported by pylons secured 26
metres down in the ground. There was a professional lighting system. The
very big stage included a smaller stage that could be made to go up and
down using hydraulic power.
Impact on the Region During the Early Years
During the first years, thousands of people were visiting Dalhalla. People
made pilgrimages there to see something they had never witnessed before.
This meant several spin-off effects on the local community. Hotels, restau-
rants and shops were helped by the opera’s presence, which also boosted
other cultural spectacles in the area.
In 1999, an analysis was made by the tourist agency of the Siljan region,
estimating what the municipality and region had earned from Dalhalla.
The 60,000 or so Dalhalla visitors contributed 56 million crowns to the
income of other businesses in the Lake Siljan area. Figures from October
2003 showed that Dalhalla’s 110,000 visitors during that year contributed
70 million crowns to the income of other businesses in the Lake Siljan
area. The number of man-years of industrial work created as an effect
of Dalhalla was estimated at 102. Adding to this was the stimulation of
business in the entire region of Dalarna. Further, immigration into the
Siljan community increased as a result of Dalhalla. Never before had
the property agents sold as many houses in the district of Rättvik as
they did in 2003, and those who know attribute this largely to Dalhalla’s
attractiveness.
In 2008, a new investigation was presented by the tourist board of the
region. They estimated that around 30,000 guest nights in the region were
directly related to Dalhalla. A lot of spending by Dalhalla visitors contrib-
uted to the development of the region. This investigation also showed that
the opera audience spent the most. On average, an opera visitor spent 800
crowns per day compared to only 600 for other Dalhalla visitors.

An opera arena in a limestone quarry in the middle of nowhere? That was

the vision and that became reality. Notice the new roof and the facilities
behind the scene, as well as the restaurant above the seats. Photo: Martin
Litens.
The ‘Bomb’ in the Mailbox
As indicated above, additional uses of Dalhalla emerged. Already in

1998, the well-known Swedish pop artist Robert Wells set up his show
‘Rhapsody in Rock’ in Dalhalla. This show attracted a great audience.
During 1998–2007, Rhapsody in Rock was to be staged about 45 times.
In the spring of 2001, the Swedish clothes retailing company Hennes &
Mauritz arranged a fashion show at the site. Journalists and top models,

including Grace Jones, were flown in from all over the world. A lot of
other pop shows followed. But these pop-related activities represented a
shift away from classical music and opera.
In 2003, Dalhalla had existed for 10 years. There was a big jubilee
concert. Events at Dalhalla were covered extensively by television and
newspapers. Behind the scene, however, there were great problems. In
2001, Dalhalla had been at the brink of bankruptcy. The donation of 10
million at the beginning of 2002 solved this acute problem.
Late on Tuesday evening, 3 June 2003, a letter was thrown into the
mailbox of Margareta Dellefors’s apartment in Stockholm. It stated
that she had been removed as the artistic director of Dalhalla; in other
words, she was fired. This was the culmination of a struggle that locally
had become known as the opera war. The core of the disagreement was
whether Dalhalla should focus primarily on opera or turn to more popular
genres. How did Dellefors feel about this?
Well – this was of course a terrible shock for me. I knew that I had become
controversial, because I had at some board meetings been very critical about
the management of Dalhalla concerning both programme and economic issues.
In October 2001 we were on the edge of a bankruptcy and it was obvious why.
I had at that time decided to leave my position as artistic director and continue
as consultant in all questions concerning the programme in Dalhalla. The
manager, who until this time had had a half-time position should now go in full
time. What I did not know was that the board behind my back had decided to
give the manager full responsibility also artistically and that a consultant posi-
tion no longer existed. I was never told until the end of July 2001. Anyway – the
catastrophe was there. I saw my whole idea – a festival arena for opera and
classical music, but also for other more popular events with quality – get lost.
However, when the bankruptcy was near, the board reinstalled me as artistic
director, but only for opera and classical music with insight in the economic
issues in these matters, and a new contract was written in March 2002. Not least
because of this, when the letter was smuggled into my mailbox late at night on
3 June 2003, saying that I was to leave Dalhalla as artistic director from 5 June
2003, I was more than choked, surprised and unhappy. I did not understand
anything.
But had not Dellefors herself also contributed to this conflict? She responds:
I had been critical – yes – with very good reason, because the only thing that
saved Dalhalla from economic catastrophe was the new millions given to
us by the donor. I was not the only person who was surprised when I was
sacked. I would say that everyone involved in the musical world in Sweden
was. Individual people were interviewed like Birgit Nilsson. The papers wrote
about ‘The lost image of Dalhalla’ and so on. A list of 31 cultural profiles of
well-known artists from the opera, theatre and literature wrote and wanted to
know the reasons. I personally tried reconciliation first by myself, then through

my lawyer. But the conflicts remained, which hurt Dalhalla a lot. That is some-
thing that has already been proved. The audience did not come. Dalhalla is now
again in economic crisis. But the trademark of Dalhalla is too important, so the
community will intervene.
I talked with many people in and around Rättvik about what they think
about Dellefors (these people wanted to remain anonymous in this text).
The feelings were mixed. Let’s take some examples of the sceptical ones.
One hotel manager thought ‘Dellefors did not understand the need for a
big professional organization for the management of Dalhalla’. One local
taxi driver said ‘it was necessary to broaden the programme with pop
music’. A shopkeeper said ‘Dellefors interfered too much with details’.
Let’s look a bit more behind the rising of that conflict. At the annual
meeting of the Society of Friends of Dalhalla, on 24 May 2003, a tumult
took place. A group of opera lovers demanded the resignation of the
Society’s board. And – which was more important – there was a letter
signed by Sweden’s three opera directors, among them Bengt Hall from the
Royal Opera and the director responsible for the institution for classical
music, called Rikskonserter, plus two more people. They expressed their
fears about Dalhalla, already internationally known as an opera arena,
now turning into a pop arena. And they mentioned the limited influence
that the art director Margareta Dellefors had. This letter was supposed
to be distributed to all participants of the meeting, but they never got it.
The board of directors of Dalhalla’s production company insisted that
Dellefors herself was behind the attempt to replace the Society’s board.
Dellefors denied this, but she maintained that classical music and opera
should dominate Dalhalla’s programme. Such declarations had also been
the message to several of the largest donors before they made their deci-
sions regarding financial contributions. Dellefors’s argument was that,
while it was certainly possible to earn more money by taking in popular
music, in the long run it was important to uphold Dalhalla’s identity, the
Dalhalla trademark. She continued: ‘Instead of broadening into a “tour
place”, Dalhalla should be broadened by also bringing in dance and
theatre, and even ancient drama.’ She adds: ‘There is a theatre in Falun
with workshops for scenography, dress making, and other stage craft. A
summer stage would be very convenient, especially as this theatre is sup-
ported by the state.’ The conflict was hot stuff in the newspapers, and
Dellefors also participated with letters to the press. I asked Dellefors for
more comments on all this:
The official reason from the board was not true. But it is true, that I have
criticized the profile of the summer programme the three last years. And – as I
see it – the money Dalhalla has been given is because we have had a profile of

high art. That aim and strategy was also taken by the members of the Friends
of Dalhalla at the annual meeting May 1999. Important people in high music
positions had noticed this and wrote a letter, which I had nothing to do with
whatsoever.
Those insiders who were critical of Dellefors’s perspective argued that the
investment of about 50 million crowns, which had come from donors and
the state, represented only around a fourth of the ticket sales (until the
middle of 2003). This argument, however, does not take into account that
there would have been no ticket sales at all if the Dalhalla arena had not
existed. The arena existed thanks to the most important donors, and their
decisions were made on the basis that they were contributing to an opera
and classical music stage. Moreover – as it has turned out – the so-called
popular shows have become so expensive today that they require very high
ticket-prices just to compensate for the rising costs.
There was a lot of turbulence after the “bomb in the mailbox” on 3
June 2003. On 11 October the same year an extra meeting for the Society
of Friends of Dalhalla was held in Rättvik. On this occasion, an objec-
tive investigation of Dellefors’s work was to be presented. It was made
by two persons. One was Mats Nygårds at Öhrlings Pricewaterhouse, the
same accounting firm that was responsible for the auditing of Dalhalla’s
accounts. Dellefors thought it was strange that this representative could
be regarded as objective. She had earlier critiqued how this accounting
firm did its job. They had not said anything about the rising admin-
istrative costs and so on. The meeting was a catastrophe, according
to Dellefors. Among other things the meeting members, according to
Dellefors, voted or whether ‘they wanted Dellefors or Dalhalla – an
impossible choice’.
On 13 April 2004 Dellefors, via the lawyer Toivo Öhman, sued
Dalhalla Produktion AB. The argument was that the firing of her was
illegal. After one year the court decision came in the form of a reconcili-
ation. It was a compromise. One of the points in this reconciliation was:
‘Margareta Dellefors should always be pointed out as the founder and
art developer of Dalhalla’. This judgement was some relief, probably for
both parties.
Some Redress
On 17 June 2006 Dellefors got some redress. This day a statue in bronze
was presented in Dalhalla. The statue was financed mostly by earlier
members of the Society of Friends of Dalhalla who wanted to honour
Dellefors. At the same time, she was sad and became even more so. In
May 2007, for example, she looked up the website of Dalhalla. Despite the

court decision she found almost nothing about her role in the development
of the opera arena. She commented: ‘In the history section, very little was
told about the true story of Dalhalla. But there is a note that a trial concert
in 1999 was the start of the development from nothing to a world class
arena.’ Dellefors tried to tell people about her version of the Dalhalla con-
flict. She wrote articles, spoke to people and also wrote a book in Swedish
(Dellefors, 2008).
As mentioned earlier, only a few of the locals were positive at the very
beginning of the project. But the attitudes changed. Dellefors reflects:
‘It has been a long struggle, but a good one. Most of the time I have felt
an enormous sympathy and got encouragement from the local people,
who have really been proud of their contribution to the Swedish summer
festivals.’
But why did they change their thinking over time? Why did they become
more and more positive about the Dalhalla thing? Here is Dellefors’s guess
as she saw it around 2004: ‘One reason that the Rättvik people have now
taken Dalhalla to their hearts is, first of all, that Rättvik has become an
international place on the map and that there is not only opera music,
but also some folk music in the beginning, which I think personally is
extremely important, because it is part of the region’s identity.’ In 2009,
Dellefors made an additional comment: ‘But folk music nowadays is never
performed in Dalhalla.’ Yes, things changed regarding artistic direction,
but also regarding finance. Let’s look at this in a little more detail.
Finance and Dalhalla during Later Years
The year Dellefors was fired, 2003, Dalhalla had reached an economic
peak, with a 1.5 million crown profit. That year Dalhalla had around
110,000 visitors. The summer of 2004, however, was an economic fiasco for
Dalhalla, with a loss of about 4 million crowns. In September, Dellefors
got a request from the board asking if she could sign a public letter asking
people for financial help. She said no as she was denied access to financial
information. The economic disaster later became known to the public in
newspapers. The biggest Swedish newspaper, Dagens Nyheter, published
an article on 27 December, with the heading ‘Acute economic crisis for
Dalhalla’. However, that was the same day as the news of the tsunami dis-
aster in Thailand. The Dalhalla news therefore did not get much attention.
The rescue came from Rättvik municipality, who gave Dalhalla a 2
million crown loan. But the problems continued. The supporting organi-
zation Society of Friends of Dalhalla started to melt away. In 2003, the
society had 3,313 members. In 2009, the number of members had dimin-
ished to 1,477. The administrative costs of Dalhalla expanded over the

years. In 2007 the cost was around 9 million crowns. Dalhalla had not
done any own productions from 1999 to 2007. In spite of this, Dalhalla
still had around 100,000 visitors in 2007.
But in 2008 the number of visitors was much lower – only around
82,000. Among the unsuccessful shows was one that was far away from
opera or classical music – Masters of Shaolin Kung fu. It was a Chinese
martial arts competition on stage, and this did not attract many visitors.
The total loss was more than 25,000 visitors this year and that meant a
reduction in income by 6–7 million crowns.
The situation in 2009 was not easy. Besides the aforementioned prob-
lems, the general economic crisis in the western world also affected
Dalhalla. In March 2009 it was clear that Dalhalla needed to ask for more
money from the municipalities in the Siljan region. The reason was partly
the need for a new roof (at an estimated cost of 8 million crowns). It was
also decided to put on Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute (at an estimated
cost of 9.4 million plus 4.5 million for unspecified expenses). Yes, this was
a turning point. The CEO Håkan Ivarson in an interview on 6 July 2009
made a quite astonishing statement. In these times of economic crisis,
Dalhalla would go back to the original plan of putting on its own opera
productions! And they should do it without the main sponsor and nothing
from the Osher foundation. At the beginning of 2010 we got the answer:
the opera initiative during 2009 was a success, and the finances became not
as bad as expected that year.
Three factors stand out as particularly important for the future of
Dalhalla. The first factor is the programme designed by the Dalhalla man-
agement as well as further improvements to the arena. The second factor is
financial support from sponsors. The third is the audience. Do they prefer
pop music or opera?
One indication on people’s taste was the Swedish contribution to
the Eurovision Song Contest in 2009. The final at the Globe Arena in
Stockholm was held on 14 March. When all votes from the people in
Sweden were counted, it became clear that the winner was the opera
singer Malena Ernman and the opera-inspired song La voix. Ernman then
became a very sought-after artist doing many shows during the spring
and summer of 2009. The reader can interpret this in his or her own way.
Malena Ernman had performed about three opera concerts at Dalhalla,
and she was very much appreciated by the audience. Once, she sang opera
while swimming in the water in front of the Dalhalla stage. She was a great
performer and drew a full house.
The story of the Dalhalla adventure is not finished. The future will show
how it will end. I hope it will have a happy outcome.

DISCUSSION
The Core of Innovation
What, really, is the original meaning of the term innovation that today
receives more than one hundred million hits on Google? According to
the Oxford English Dictionary OED (2002) one of the first to use the term
‘innovation’ in the English language was King Edward VI in 1548. The
meaning of the word according to this source was ‘A change made in the
nature or fashion of anything; something newly introduced; a novel prac-
tice, method, etc.’
The term is related to the verb ‘innovate’, which also has its roots in
a source from 1548, namely a publication written by John Udall. OED
describes the meaning of innovate as ‘To bring in (something new) the
first time; to introduce as new.’ Udall himself referred empirically to new
kinds of words. Other sources after him referred to novelties such as new
tables, new religions, or new materials. A central part of the meaning of
innovation was thus the introduction of something new, and I interpret it
that new meant ‘principally new’.
The English term innovation is just an offspring from other languages.
I especially want to mention the Latin words innovatio (renewal), innova-
tus (renewed) and innovare (renew). These words were in turn probably
derived from novare (make new) and novus (new, fresh, young). One
variant of the adjective novus is novae. If connected with the Latin noun
‘res’ (which means thing, things, matter, affair, fact, condition etc.) we get
the term ‘res novae’. Well-informed sources trace the term innovation to
this ‘res novae’ (see Morwood, 2005). That phrase was frequently used by
Quintus Horatius Flaccus and his contemporaries in the Roman Empire
during the first century bc (Wagenvoort, 1956). Because of the context in
which the phrase was typically used, I interpret the meaning of it as a refer-
ence to something new and revolutionary for people.
According to this derivation it is not enough for something to be new
to call it innovation. It has to be revolutionary as well. Some observ-
ers, however, do not agree on the interpretation that ‘res novae’ has an
obvious connection to the word ‘innovation’ (Frier, 2008). According
to these interpretations an innovation has to be new, but not necessarily
revolutionary. My own opinion is that there is a point in the connection.
There has to be some ‘revolutionary aspect’ (interpreted as ‘a radical
aspect’) of a phenomenon if it is to be called innovation. In fact, the words
innovation and revolution are closely related (Morwood, 2005).
However, the word innovation has still older roots – in the Greek lan-
guage, which has been shown by D’Angour (1998). One can trace two

predecessors of the term innovation from the Greeks. The first one is
found in an Aristophanic comedy 422 bc (Aristophanes, 1971). In fact,
Aristophanes may have produced the earliest known term for what today
is known as innovation. His Greek word was kainotomia. He used this
word in a new way. From the beginning the word kainotomia probably
meant cutting new channels in a mine for the extraction of precious metal.2
The metaphor Aristophanes used was, as I interpret it, that innovation is
about finding or creating ‘new ways’ that ‘lead to some kind of value’.
But the word innovation seems to have a parallel and maybe still older
predecessor. D’Angour (2009) points at the word palingenesia. It was used
by the philosopher Democritos (in Latin Democritus), born in Abdera
around 460 bc (although according to some 490). The translation of that
word probably is ‘rebirth’. My interpretation of the intended meaning
was ‘an absolute new beginning of something’. According to D’Angour
the word ‘new’, on which the meaning of innovation depends, has two
dimensions. One is ‘young vs. recent’, i.e. it is related to time. The other is
‘different vs. unfamiliar’, which, as interpreted by D’Angour, is related to
the effect on (or interpretation by) the perceiver.3
A more modern example that mirrors and extends this original meaning
of innovation is what the magazine Times Review of Industry & Technology
wrote in 1967: ‘Nylon, for instance, was first invented in 1928, but not
innovated until 1939; Xerography was invented in 1937, but not taken up
until 1950; even television, claimed to have been invented by Zworykin
in 1919, was not really developed until Westinghouse took it up in 1941’
(Times Review of Industry & Technology, 1967: 86, column 2).4 What was
the true meaning of innovation according to this example? Regarding the
nylon example, the magazine refers to the year 1939 when the company
du Pont began commercial production as well as sale of the new material.5
My conclusion from this brief etymological study is that innovation
originally meant something that at the same time matches three criteria.
An innovation is something that is: (1) principally new with a high level of
originality, (2) in whatever area, and (3) that also breaks into (or gains a
footing in) society, often via the market.
The phrase ‘principally new with a high level of originality’ in my defini-
tion should be interpreted as newness in some specific context and at some
specific point (or period) of time.6 If we take Dalhalla as an example, one
way to interpret it is that Dalhalla represents a specific project ending up
in an original concept – an opera arena deep down in a huge limestone
quarry. A more sceptical view would be that Dalhalla was just another
outdoor arena, and not original. But there are principal differences
between Dalhalla and, for example, Arena Verona. Dalhalla is an arena
deep down in a hole in a rock. Verona is an arena built above ground.

According to expert observers (like Opera News in the United States,

Orpheus and Opernglas in Germany, Opera Now in England, or Der Neue
Merker in Austria) Dalhalla really was an original phenomenon when it
was launched in 1995.
The second criteria mentioned above – ‘in whatever area’ – is worth
underlining. Art, for example, could be as important an area for innova-
tion as industrial or technical novelties. Compare what the Greeks referred
to when talking about kainotomia or palingenesia in the golden age.7
However most parts of the modern innovation literature focus on technol-
ogy and industry.8 Even the nestor Joseph Schumpeter seems not to have
realized the whole spectrum of innovation. He defined innovation as: (1)
the introduction of a new good, (2) the introduction of a new method of
production, (3) the opening of a new market, that is, a market into which
the particular branch of manufacture of the country in question has not
previously entered. . . , (4) the conquest of a new source of supply of raw
materials or half-manufactured goods, and (5) the carrying out of the new
organization of any industry (Schumpeter, 1934: 66).
How does the Dalhalla case fit into these categories? Was it primarily
a new good? Was it a production method? Was it a new market? Was it
a new source of raw materials? Was it a new organization of an industry?
One has to be generous to answer yes to any of these questions. Dalhalla
was a new phenomenon that paved the way for a new kind of art experi-
ence. That fits into the second criterion ‘whatever area’ in my definition of
innovation, but Dalhalla is a kind of phenomenon that even Schumpeter
probably did not think of.
The particular criterion I discuss here (‘whatever area’) has interesting
policy implications. More and more policy makers in the Western world
define their area of interest as ‘innovation’. The president of the United
States, for example, wrote and stated in his inaugural speech: ‘Now is the
time to work together to restore the sustained growth that can only come
from open and stable markets that harness innovation, support entrepre-
neurship and advance opportunity’ (Obama, 2009). For policy makers,
it should be important to understand what types of innovation they are
dealing with – or should be dealing with – if they are serious about their
use of the term. In a separate study I have investigated how policy makers
in the modern world tend to define innovation nowadays (Gidlund and
Frankelius, 2003).9 We concluded that both the research literature and
policy documents in Western countries have a strong bias towards tech-
nology and industry – in terms of both sectoral and problem focus.
What are the reasons for this technology bias in innovation policy? My
hypothesis is that policy making and mass media are connected, and that
this can be part of the answer.

During 2008, I made a survey of the leading popular science media in

Sweden.10 According to this study, the picture was clear – media did not
focus on areas beyond technology, medicine, natural science, archaeology,
and psychology. If we consider that policy makers in the area of innova-
tion are connecting innovation with research and science and at the same
time are influenced by leading media, it is not strange that the innovation
policy has a bias towards areas outside the cultural sector for example.
The theories of group think (Janis, 1972) or thinking styles (Fleck, 1935)
may offer some principal explanations for the phenomenon discussed here.
The third criterion in my definition of innovation is also worth a
comment. An innovative process has not been completed until customers
or others for whom it may be of benefit have acknowledged and accepted
a new thing. Large parts of innovation policy as well as the innovation
literature have product development as a general frame. Therefore, in
fact, they are not dealing with true innovation according to the original
meaning of the word. To be defined as an innovation, the new thing needs
to gain a footing in society. In most cases that means succeeding on a
market. Thus, a new innovative concept (product, service, platform for
cultural experiences, or piece of art) is not an innovation by definition.
Nor is the development and production of it an innovation. The new
concept has to be adopted by customers and/or users and/or an audience if
someone wants to claim that it is an innovation. The implication of this is
that marketing and consumer behaviour is at the very core of innovation
(cf. Frankelius, 2009).
Variation, Selection, and the Definition of Environment
Another approach to the analysis of the Dalhalla case is to look at innova-

tive processes on the cultural arena from an evolutionary point of view.
Part of this perspective is selection. As Charles Darwin once pointed
out, selection demands variation. Hannan and Freeman (1989: 21) put it
this way: ‘Selection processes can only work on available diversity; if no
good designs are tried, selection cannot cause good designs to prolifer-
ate.’ Variation, in turn, is not something that exists from the beginning.
Rather, it is something that forms over time. In evolutionary theories the
units that constitute variety are competitors of some sort. But we must not
forget that such competitors do not exist from the beginning. They need to
be created. In the context discussed here, the competitors are created as a
result of entrepreneurial actions.
In light of this, it is interesting to note that evolutionary research such
as Hannan and Freeman (1977, 1989) focuses on variation and selec-
tion in existing populations, but not so much on the processes behind the

formation of the specific units that make up variation. In other words, they
seem to take variation (populations) for granted. It is the same with, for
example, Nelson and Winter (1982). Dalhalla represents an interesting
illustration of how something that contributes to variation comes about.
But the Dalhalla case does not explore in detail the underlying drivers
behind the creation of variety (that is, why Dellefors wanted to establish
the opera arena). Professional experiences and the explicit desire to create
a novel opera arena seem to have been part of the equation, but the deeper
origins of the initiative remain unknown.
Variety, then, can be of two kinds. One kind is different things of the
same sort, like different traditional opera houses. Another kind of variety
is about different sorts of phenomena – compare traditional opera houses
vs. an opera arena in a quarry. The creation of new sorts of phenomena is
about the introduction of something that is original, and in that sense the
creation of new original things is an empirical phenomenon close to the
concept of innovation. The discussion on “variation” therefore connects
to the innovation discourse.
The way we think about innovation has changed over the past 50
years. As an example, the so-called linear model (Nelson, 1959; Arrow,
1962; Rogers, 1962; Schmookler, 1966; Cooper, 1971; van de Ven, 1986)
has been replaced by the innovation systems model and thus a network
perspective (see Freeman, 1982; Nelson, 1987; Lundvall, 1988; Lundvall,
2007). However, there are some “truths” that are rarely questioned (cf.
Frankelius, 2009). One postulate which is common in innovation theory
is the definition of the business or innovation environment as something
mostly consisting of other buyers and sellers in relation to the central
actor. This perspective is common also in entrepreneurship and broader
economic theory. Thus, Porter (1980: 3) maintains that: ‘Although the
relevant environment is very broad, encompassing social as well as eco-
nomic forces, the key aspect of the firm’s environment is the industry or
industries in which it competes’. This postulate is also obvious in the litera-
ture on evolution. Although writers like Hannan, Freeman, Nelson and
Winter are aware of the wider environment, they focus on competition and
therefore the factors associated with competitors and customers. Joseph
Schumpeter is usually described as wide-thinking, but he also shares the
traditional view. The analysis in Schumpeter (1928), for example, implies
a model that merely consists of sellers and buyers.
The entrepreneurial context or environment has been explicitly investi-
gated in many studies. It is quite strange that it again has been defined as a
phenomenon limited to actors such as customers, competitors or suppliers
(classic works are Dill, 1958; Emery and Trist, 1965; Aldrich, 1979). The
same perspective is present also in most network models. Among the social

external factors in the Dalhalla case there were some related to traditional
economic actors (customers, suppliers and competitors). But there were
also other kinds of social actors involved, such as the media, local opinion
leaders, donors, and people at high positions in the art sector who tried
to influence the course of events. Regarding the last type of actor, con-
sider for example what happened at the annual meeting for the Society of
Friends of Dalhalla on 24 May 2003. These kinds of external actors and
influences are not commonly addressed in (or incorporated into) main-
stream economic theory.
Some fields of business research have a wider perspective, involving
more than ‘other sellers and buyers’ in their theories and conceptual
models (cf. March, 1962, or Steyaert and Hjorth, 2003). But I think this is
still not enough. The reason is that they only point at social factors. In con-
trast to this, the Dalhalla case points at a need for widening the definition
of the context to include also other or, as I call them, X factors. In my view,
it is impossible to understand social processes when the theoretical frame
excludes non-social components such as nature (these are particularly
interesting in the Dalhalla case – think of, for example, the storm during
one of the performances) or man-made physical artefacts (for example the
limestone quarry or the television programmes). In fact, the Dalhalla phe-
nomenon is a mix of art, economy, and nature, but rarely are processes of
variation and selection framed within this broader context.
A Framework of Framing
I mentioned in the introduction that selection should not be treated as a

deterministic phenomenon. I also mentioned that it is common to restrict
selection thinking to the idea that selection of sources of variation (prod-
ucts, pieces of novel art, new organizations, etc.) only depends on how
they are treated by the environment.
However, selection is partly the result of active or proactive actions
undertaken by a promoting agent, such as an artist, innovator or entre-
preneur. Proactive entrepreneurs don’t just wait for the selection outcome
– they try to influence it. The short time frame we use in business research
(enterprise lifetime rather than millions of years as in biological evolution-
ary theory), and the fact that humans and not (other) animals are in focus
in the present analysis, imply that the view on evolution and selection here
should be different from the more biological (Darwinian) approaches.
In other words, it is not recommended to make too strong analogies
between the business context and biology-evolution contexts (cf. Betton
and Dess, 1985, and North, 2005). It is not easy for humans to change
their own genes, but it is possible to change their behaviour. In short,

there are more degrees of freedom in business and art contexts than in the
biology context. The concept of selection that I like to endorse is more
voluntaristic. In concrete terms, selection is a matter partly of external
factors, partly of the “substance” or unit of selection (the new thing – for
example a new opera arena concept), and partly of the art entrepreneur’s
marketing and leadership capabilities.
What, then, is the voluntaristic element in the process? I think we can
find part of the answer in the term and concept of framing. The term
framing is quite commonly used in, for example, social psychology. Erving
Goffman (1974), in his Frame Analysis, defined frames as definitions of
situations that are built up in accordance with the principle of organiza-
tion which governs events and our subjective involvement in them. Thus
framing is interpreted as “definitions”, which is a mental thing. In my
interpretation of the Dalhalla case, I come to the conclusion that I do not
fully agree with this view of framing. I will presently emphasize the impor-
tance of mental framing as well as physical framing (such as transforming
tons of stone by means of dynamite).
Czernich and Zander (2010) present a more general picture: ‘At the
fundamental level, framing is concerned with how individuals attempt to
construct meaning and convey a picture of “reality” to other people.’ And
they add: ‘The objective is to generate attention to certain issues, prob-
lems, or projects and to construct mental models that help others make
sense of and evaluate new information’ (p. 5). They build on contributions
like Huber (1991), Dutton and Ashford (1993), Fiol (1994), and Benford
and Snow (2000).
Dellefors herself was brilliant in the art of framing her vision. From
the Dalhalla case, we can derive that Dellefors like (some) entrepreneurs
strategized in her attempts to turn the entrepreneurial opportunity into
an innovation, specifically in terms of who she chose to interact with,
the sequencing of interaction and activities, and how she framed the new
opportunity to external stakeholders (cf. Czernich and Zander, 2010).
Dellefors seemed very much aware of the importance of framing and of
the strategic choices that were made.
From framing, I now turn to the term and concept of reframing.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary (2002), the term refram-
ing was used in 1590 by the Counters of Pembroke in her translation
Antonie. Reframing is sometimes about innovative interpretations of, for
example, visual impressions, with specific emphasis on novel interpreta-
tions of already familiar phenomena. But as I see it, reframing is more
than only a thinking process. Consider Dellefors who once said to herself
‘Go ahead and do it.’ The ‘do it’ is about acting and it means more than
thinking. One special aspect of the reframing process is the testing of the

128
Margareta Dellefors used many methods to frame her vision. Here she shows the photo on which she placed clear film
with drawings of possible designs. Photo: The author.
26/01/2011 11:15
entrepreneur’s own reframing conclusion: ‘To be sure I invited lots of

friends – conductors, musicians, singers – people whose judgement I could
trust and started to work for my, as I thought, splendid idea.’ Testing the
power of reframing within a small group of trusted friends serves as a
first step to see if reframing potentially holds for continued efforts. This
example also illustrates that physical (concrete) action can affect thinking
processes and vice versa.
In their chapter in this book Maria Bonnafous-Boucher, Raphael Cuir
and Marc Partouche discuss the act of creation (see also the chapter by
Meisiek and Haefliger). They point to the artist Marcel Duchamp who
transformed industrial objects into sculptures. For example, he took an
industrially made bottle rack and placed it in a room as a sculpture. I think
the Duchamp example is an illustration of the reframing phenomenon,
with some relation to what Dellefors did when reframing a quarry into an
opera arena. One way to look at the concept of reframing is the following:
Reframing refers to situations that differ from the general situation where
novel things need to be framed (‘I’m building a rotating opera house’),
in the sense that in reframing it is an issue of framing something that is
already a firmly ingrained notion in the minds of others (‘I’m from now
on calling this quarry an opera scene’). However, it is not easy to theo-
retically distinguish the term framing from the term reframing because
reality is often a mixture of the two. One thing, however, is clear: framing
or reframing includes the process of influencing other peoples’ thinking.
Consider this narrative:
Opera was my main idea. Hardly anyone in this area of Sweden had ever in their
life heard or seen it. Only thinking of it as something obscure, especially done
for an elite of people. An impossible kind of theatre where the actors did not
speak their lines but sang them. Or as someone said at the beginning: shouted.
So there were many things which had to be overcome. After my trial concert in
June 1993 I gave many speeches in the library hall and brought opera music and
told the listeners what it really was. Before we had the concert with the world
tenor José Cura in 1999 I played his records at one such time and also contacted
the local radio to play and speak about him. So gradually I made a bigger basis
for understanding what opera was about and I dare say that Dalhalla has been
able to create a new audience for this kind of music, something that has been
confirmed by the ticket office at the Royal Opera in Stockholm, who hear from
people that they now also want to hear opera there after for the first time having
heard opera in Dalhalla.
Sharing one’s vision and reframing conclusions require mastery of didac-

tic techniques and sometimes an audiovisual trick or two. Dellefors
interposed video recordings of the quarry with footage of foreign amphi-
theatres to demonstrate their geotechnical and topographical similarities.

She also brought in influential people to see the site and listen to a trial
concert.
Mental reframing or actions with an aim to affect other people’s frames
are not the only kinds. Another part of the framing or reframing process
is the creation and display of the concrete value associated with the vision.
Consider, for example, the creation of a new opera production like the
one Dellefors put in place in 1997 (Wagner’s opera Ring of the Nibelungs).
This was about hard work that involved physical change, and that work
consumed a lot of resources including financial ones (which are not mental
things). In most cases, the creation and display of value and physical
framing (or reframing) cannot be done until the mental (re)framing of
other people’s (not least financiers’) minds has taken place.
A process perspective on framing (with connections to marketing theory)

As touched upon above, one could probably define framing as a process
consisting of several overlapping phases. The process takes off from an
already framed starting position – both substance itself and different
people’s views on that substance. In the Dalhalla case, it was a limestone
quarry outside a small (and not economically prosperous) municipality.
The frame also included musical culture in the region, which traditionally
has had a focus on a special kind of music: folk music. The framing (or
reframing) process then contains the following phases, which overlap over
time:
1. The initial mental framing or reframing at the level of the entrepreneur.

2. The process of framing/reframing external actors’ mental maps, which
hopefully leads to mental, financial, and political support.
3. Physical framing/reframing (like building Dalhalla).
4. Display and exchange of the framed value with actors in society.
What can be said about (1) the initial mental framing or reframing? A
factor or resource that appears to be useless (or even a disadvantage) at
first glance, may by help of an entrepreneur turn out to be an advantage
(cf. the Meisiek and Haefliger chapter). The Dalhalla case demonstrates
that even apparently depleted resources sometimes harbor possibili-
ties. Unfortunately, only a few people seem to have the ability to detect
such possibilities, or, in other words, to mentally reframe the resource.
This discussion should thus lead to a re-evaluation of concepts such as
strength–weakness analysis (Andrews, 1971), as it rigidly requires factors
to be considered as either strengths or weaknesses. In my view, something
should not be defined as either a strength or a weakness beforehand,
because different people can see and place the same thing in different

frames. Here we have an interesting bridge to the literature on opportunity

recognition (Stevenson and Gumpert, 1985; Shane, 2000).
What comments could be made regarding (2) framing/reframing exter-
nal actors’ mental maps? Dellefors is known for her persistency, inde-
fatigability, and persuasiveness. A person lacking these traits should think
twice before pursuing a vision like Dalhalla. In processes that relate to the
rejuvenation of a locality, leadership differs substantially from leadership
in a company, where the executive has formal authority over his or her
subordinates. When one is about to reframe places that are connected to
villages, it is important to win the support of people outside of the imme-
diate project team. Probably, this activity is even more difficult when the
driving force is a person who has no roots in the place in question and
does not belong to the same local culture. I will come back to this issue
presently.
Why then is it of such importance to reframe the social context, from
the central entrepreneur’s point of view? Let me turn to marketing theory.
The outcome of an innovative process is determined by the extent to
which people are willing to recognize the new value (or benefit) that has
been created or offered. It is not enough that they like the new thing, they
also have to contribute by paying. It has to be an exchange, which is the
core of marketing theory (Alderson, 1957; McInnes, 1964; Bagozzi, 1975;
Berry, 1983). It is important to separate the two problems in the market-
ing process that overlap each other over time. The first problem is to sell
the vision or idea. That means persuading people (investors) to invest
in the process that in the future will create something new. The second
problem is to persuade people (potential customers/audience) to buy the
fruits from that new created thing.
What is really the trick required to go through this process of persua-
sion? The answer has partly to do with targeting and creative adjustment
of arguments to different persons. At the micro level, Dellefors was prac-
ticing what has been called surgical marketing (Frankelius, 2002). She
invested lots of time in collecting information on specific targets for her
fundraising process – ‘I sat down in the library and looked into big books
after foundations that might be interested in investing money in Dalhalla.’
She then contacted each prospect with a tailored proposal. After the first
contact, Dellefors continued her actions. She told me the following: ‘When
I had sent a request, a proposal or an application to potential donors, I
always continued tailored communication in the waiting time between first
contact and decision.’ Thus, she did not just wait for decisions. She was
proactive and strategic.
But I have to admit that I do not have the full answer to the follow-
ing question: what is really the trick required to succeed in the process of

persuasion? The marketing model AIDA can partially help us understand

this issue (Strong, 1925). AIDA stands for Attention, Interest, Desire and
Action. It refers to the buying process. However, neither Edward Strong
nor his followers really have uncovered the secrets of transforming the
D to the last A. The reason for the difficulties in answering the D-to-A-
question has to do with the empirical complexity at the micro level. There
are many factors that influence this transformation. Some of these are
related to the promoter, while others are related to the targets. Still others
are related to external conditions (including X factors). More research
needs to be undertaken in this area.
Physical framing/reframing (3) is also worth a comment. This phase is
not so much about social construction or interpretation. It is about con-
verting visions into real actions and also physical objects. Think about
this: in the summer of 1995 the capacity at Dalhalla was expanded to
2,670 seats. Parking places were arranged and a protected path was laid
down into the quarry. The stage, with an aesthetic roof of sailcloth, was
placed on a peninsula in the emerald-coloured water. About 40,000 tons
of limestone were blasted and used as material for the stage. The 11 metre
broad channel between stage and audience was dug out. It is of course
difficult to make all this physical action happen, yet it is a necessary step
towards being able to display the value created for other members of
society.
Display and exchange of the reframed value with actors in society (4)
is probably the most exciting part from the entrepreneur’s point of view.
I said earlier that if we take the entrepreneur’s perspective it is important
to separate the two fundamental problems in the marketing process. The
first is to sell the vision or idea. The second problem is to persuade people
to buy the fruits from that new created thing. In the Dalhalla case, that
meant selling tickets. It was also about selling other things that could
strengthen the financial base for the development of the reframed asset,
for example selling advertising space during an opera festival. Reaching
the final step in the framing (or reframing) process is essential, because
this is the step that effectively turns an invention or entrepreneurial vision
into innovation.
The encounter between characteristics of the framer and the environment

The creation of variation (like new opera arena concepts), as well as
selection processes are affected by cultural dimensions and other kinds
of differences between the framer and the environment. In the creation of
Dalhalla, Dellefors encountered resistance from many sceptics. Remember
this citation: ‘I don’t know if that was because I was a woman and with
Stockholm as my home address, or my age. And as opera is something so

out of nowhere for most – I would say particularly people in Dalarna, the
landscape of Swedish folk music.’ What differences between the character-
istics of the framer and the environment can we derive from this?
The first one concerns the man–woman dimension. Many times during
my interviews Dellefors mentioned meetings where she felt resistance
because she was a woman. This phenomenon is well known in the gender
literature (see for example Xiomara, 2008). The second difference is about
city people vs. people in the countryside. Dellefors was regarded as a
“Stockholm inhabitant”, and Stockholmers are sometimes considered as
the ‘bad guys’ in the eyes of people from other parts of the country (and
vice versa). There are many films that are based on the cultural contrast
when people from the big city come to the countryside. In Sweden, the film
Masjävlar (‘The Devils from Dalarna’) became a big success in 2004 with
785,000 viewers. Kjell Sundvall’s film Jägarna (‘The Hunters’) became
the most successful thriller in Sweden, and that film was also based on the
theme “big city guy meets countryside people”.
The third dimension is about age. ‘Why should that old lady tell us what
to do?’ In the research literature there are also proofs of the importance of
this dimension (Achenbaum, 2008).
The last dimension I have found important in the Dalhalla case is about
different art arena cultures. Dellefors was a representative of the opera
art, while most people in Rättvik and Dalarna were rooted in folk music
traditions. The case shows how the entrepreneur struggled to overcome
barriers of the mentioned kinds. One example was the trial concert on 18
June 1993. To take the edge off the criticism that the opera idea did not
suit Rättvik’s folk music culture, Dellefors spiced the programme with
traditional fiddlers and birch-bark horn blowers.
To conclude: value creation depends on meetings between people rep-
resenting different cultures and displaying many other differences. How to
manage these meetings, and especially how these differences affect the ease
of (re)framing and strategizing around framing efforts, are areas that still
need more research (see Vogel and Frankelius, 2009).
Turning Points, Contributions and Rewards
Unfortunately, we have found that innovative processes often (probably

always) include conflicts. These can arise during all phases of the process.
But there are reasons to believe that conflicts arise not least after the physi-
cal framing has been successfully carried out. From that point on, many
people take the new creation as a given fact, and from this point on, and
perhaps not before, there exists something concrete and valuable to fight
for. Everyone wants gold when they see it.

I have described the turning point in the Dalhalla case that represented
a shift from classical to more popular music and shows. This shift was not
in line with Dellefors’s original vision. A fierce disagreement arose con-
cerning the direction of the programme but also other things. Dellefors’s
vision, for example, included that the acoustic quality of the limestone
quarry should be used in an explicit way. She commented: ‘The acoustics
in Dalhalla is the soul of Dalhalla. During my years at Dalhalla all the
operas I arranged were made acoustically without electric amplification.’
Other observers also loved the acoustic mystery. The trend guru Bengt
Wahlström wrote the following in a book:
The ones who have been seated on the grandstand of Dalhalla, among thou-
sands of expectant visitors, and suddenly heard the distinct sound of a great tit
[. . . ], and noticed that the same bird song is observed by many others sitting
in the seats, realize directly that there are many wonderful moments having
nothing to do with megabytes. (Wahlström, 2002: 96, my translation)
That, however, changed. Every performance in the later years was made
with the help of electric amplifiers. Moreover, the new expensive stage roof
in 2009 partly destroyed the natural acoustics of Dalhalla.
Many entrepreneurs would be able to tell stories about how someone else
wrestled control from them and finally forced them to exit their project,
company, or creation. Yet, this process, its antecedents and dynamics, has
not been discussed very much in the literature on innovation and entrepre-
neurship. Still, it is a very important issue. One implication of the events
that took place at Dalhalla is that issues related to intellectual property
rights are important to consider when working on innovative processes
on the art arena. For example, the founding document of the Society of
Friends of Dalhalla (the juridical regulations of it) from 1993 turned out
to be a vital component. Were these rules really formulated in a good way?
Dellefors looks back:
Probably not. I had no experience of what there was to be in this matter. I

trusted in the first place Bengt Göransson, former minister of culture, who was
and still is the chairman of many boards. Now – of course – when we formed
a limited stock company Dalhalla Produktion, we should have had a more
professional advice.
Besides the legal issues we can also discuss the line of events from the point
of view of principle. In some cases the result from an innovative process
becomes selected by the environment (for example customers, media,
policy makers, donors, financiers and unexpected X factors). With this in
mind it is interesting to ask who gets the credit and rewards. Does the initi-
ator (original creator) or do other people coming in later in the process get

most of it? What relationship is there between stakes and different kinds
of rewards? Issues developing around these concerns often become very
infected. Different values and opinions can be found amongst people. In
the Dalhalla case, it is quite obvious that incoming people outmanoeuvred
the creator. It is at the same time a paradox that the creator herself sup-
ported and promoted the incoming of these new people. The changes in
people initiated a power game that Dellefors did not win. ‘Well – this was
an enormous surprise and shock for me’, she commented.
The stakes – contributions – behind the accomplishment of innova-
tion are of different kinds. First of all it is a matter of creativity and ideas.
Dellefors got a brilliant idea on 18 May 1991 and transformed that idea
into a sophisticated new concept. Second, it is about knowledge and experi-
ence. Dellefors had been responsible for the opera production department
at Swedish public radio since 1980, and this job had included reportage
visits to different festivals round Europe, such as Bregenz, Verona and
Savonlinna. Third, it is about relationships, or network resources. Consider
Dellefors saying: ‘As I had a long career behind me in the Swedish music
world I knew persons or organizations I thought could be of value for my
idea. And most of them knew who I was.’ Fourth, it is about hard work
and time investments. So much time is needed to fulfil dreams like Dalhalla,
much more than most external observers could imagine. Because the crea-
tors have to invest a lot of time and effort, they sacrifice many other things
in life, such as friends, family and not least other things that could contrib-
ute to their personal career. Investing all of this time and effort comes with
a risk. Entrepreneurship can indeed be defined as undertaking something
in the face of genuine uncertainty (Cantillon, 1755; Knight, 1921).
It is nevertheless common that struggling creators do not get the rewards
from their investments in creativity, knowledge, relationships, work, and
time (Gidlund and Frankelius, 2003). The moral question is whether this
is right or wrong. One should also remember that one successful project or
venture is often only one of many trials made by creative entrepreneurs.
Often, success is preceded by many failures, and these failures are efforts
that build experience and knowledge used in the successful cases. On the
other hand, new initiatives are not necessarily good for society. And the
creator is not always well suited for completing the later phases of inno-
vative processes. But the question remains: is it right or wrong that new
people outmanoeuvre the person who initiated the innovative process in
the first place? Under which circumstances is it right? There is of course
no simple answer to the question at this point, but the Dalhalla case sheds
some preliminary light on the under-researched but important issue of the
dynamics that decide whether the original entrepreneur remains with the
venture or is involuntarily removed from it.

CONCLUSION
In this chapter, the Dalhalla case has been used to open up a set of
issues at the crossroads of innovation, entrepreneurship, and art/culture.
Innovation, I have argued, is about something principally new that also
gains a solid footing in society. Therefore, from the entrepreneur’s point
of view innovation is not only about discovering and developing the new
offer (creative concept development). It is at least as much about stimulat-
ing the process by which the new innovative thing succeeds on the market
or in society. This, in turn, is not only about selling technology, products,
or any other type of novelty to customers in the traditional sense. In fact,
in the early phases the entrepreneur has to deal with the more general and
delicate problem of selling and promoting something that doesn’t yet exist.
This promotion is not only directed towards customers, but also towards
actors such as financiers, donors, or foundations.
Another core question in this chapter has been what the meaning or
scope of innovation really is. There are categories of novel things that we
traditionally have excluded from consideration when discussing innova-
tion. The creation of an opera arena in the middle of nowhere is one
example of phenomena that are not commonly addressed in the tradi-
tional innovation literature. Nevertheless, such culture- or art-related
innovations are probably as common, and also in many cases as economi-
cally relevant as traditional technological advance and the introduction of
new industrial products.
A second part of the discussion has revolved around evolutionary
models and related aspects such as variation and selection. I have argued
that if we want to understand the outcome of selection, we not only have
to focus on selection per se. Instead, we also have to understand the pro-
cesses that created the things that make up variation in the first place.
Another angle of the discussion has been the drivers behind selection deci-
sions. In the existing literature selection is merely seen as a matter of how
the environment behaves and decides. With the help of the Dalhalla case,
we have seen that selection is partly the result of the active agent’s (like
Margareta Dellefors’s) influence on the environment. Therefore, selection
should not be treated as a purely deterministic phenomenon.
Regarding selection pressure from the environment, I have called sellers
and buyers traditional economic factors. But I want to suggest a wider
definition of selectors that includes other kinds of social actors as well
(such as media or donors or idealistic promoters). To understand innova-
tive processes, we must also understand non-social factors that affect the
process directly or via social actors. Remember this for example: the offi-
cial inauguration of Dalhalla on 21 June 1995 had to be stopped halfway

through because of a storm. This nature-affected drama was broadcast

on Swedish television (which is not a customer nor a supplier) and from
then on ‘everybody knew about Dalhalla’. Therefore, we are dealing with
three kinds of factors that constitute the selection environment: traditional
economic factors, other kinds of social actors, and non-social factors (or
non-social X factors).
The term framing has been a recurrent theme in the discussion, and I
have defined different kinds of framing. One kind of framing is related
to the mindset of the entrepreneur, meaning thinking out new visions. In
some cases, this framing is about the redefinition of something already
existing, and that is why I used the term reframing as well as framing. But
framing (or reframing) is more than this. Entrepreneurs strategize in their
attempts to turn opportunities into reality. They strategize specifically with
respect to who they choose to interact with, the sequencing of interaction
and activities, and how they frame new opportunities to external stake-
holders. The traditional entrepreneurship literature has focused much on
the entrepreneur’s characteristics or the type of entrepreneurial ventures.
The described pathways that characterize framing and innovation pro-
cesses have not been as systematically investigated. Yet, these pathways
may have important consequences for the outcome of innovative trials.
NOTES
1. ABF is the Swedish Workers’ Educational Association. Musikradion is channel 2 of the

Swedish public radio and this channel focuses on classical music.
2. The extraction of silver from the mines at Laurion was a real and significant source of
economic wealth for Athens.
3. He points out that the ‘most recent’ thing thought of, invented, or discovered, is not
always the ‘newest’. People are generally confused about this distinction. My interpre-
tation is that the dimension ‘different vs. unfamiliar’ is related not only to the effect on
(or interpretation by) the perceiver. It is also possible to use a more objective criterion.
Otherwise everything that is new for a specific person should be defined as an innova-
tion, even if it is not new in relation to the existing things. This mistake I think was made
by the innovation experts behind the influential Oslo Manual (OECD, 1991) which has
been so influential on innovation policy in Europe.
4. The citation appears in a book review entitled ‘Innovations’ concerning the book
Scientific Innovation and Industrial Prosperity, by J.A. Allen (1967). The first review in
the Books section of the journal (pp. 83–6) is written by Charles Stuart-Jervis. He is
probably also the author of the others, none of which are signed. I am grateful to Colin
T. Clarkson, Head of the Reference Department at Cambridge University Library, for
helping me with this information.
5. The first to buy and use the new things were probably female shoppers at Braunstein’s
Department Store in Wilmington in 1939. In 1940, du Pont sold 64 million pairs of
stockings on the market (Kinnane, 2002).
6. When someone says ‘The steam engine was an important innovation’, it could refer
to both a specific person/project/company or it could refer to all of the pioneers and
the era in which they made their contributions. Sometimes ‘the new’ really refers to

one specific person or organization (like James Watt and his specific steam engine).
Sometimes ‘the new’ refers to a cluster of persons or organizations (like all champions
in early steam engine history). One of the first to analyse innovation as a relay race was
Usher (1929).
7. The period in Greece from the 7th to the 4th century bc was a period of enormous
progress and renewal. During this golden age, a lot of innovations came into existence.
They were related to many areas, including philosophy, music, mathematics, literature,
art, architecture, politics and medicine. It is not strange that terms representing the
innovation phenomenon also emerged at that time.
8. Researchers and innovation professionals (including policy makers) often stress
the importance of technology when discussing innovation. A vision document from the
EU, for example, set the scene in this way: ‘Technology research and development will
play an increasingly central role in the way in which our societies develop’ (Paraskevas
and Muldur, 1998, preface). In fact most modern innovation literature focuses on tech-
nology contexts (see Cooper, 1971; van de Ven, 1986; or Fagerberg et al., 2004). This is
a postulate that stands in contrast to the Dalhalla case.
9. With the help of two university library experts, we searched databases for innovation
documents of different kinds. The search keywords were innovation, innovative pro-
cesses, innovation systems, and related subjects. We analysed the headings, key words
and abstracts of policy documents, articles and books, and also carried out a more
careful examination of a selection made from the document lists.
10. The research report from this survey is still unpublished but was presented in a speech
at the annual meeting of the Swedish Society for Business Administration, Gothenburg,
12–13 November 2008. A summary of the study was published by Nilsson and
Troedson (2008).
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7. Distant relations: art practice in a
global culture
Morten Søndergaard
The passion to know everything, to read everything, to give no quarter, no

pretext, to the European, but also to know well what the European does not
know and what he considers his own, the Popol Vuh and Descartes. And, above
all, to demonstrate to the European that there is no excuse not to know other
cultures . . . (Carlos Fuentes, 1980)
The role of art in globalized culture is not so much a question of the

market entering the art world as one might think. The market and
the commercial strategies are, after all, only a very small part of Western
Culture – for better and for worse, it is really Western humanism, not
the market that is being globalized.
This is the true meaning of a Global Culture: Western European Culture
has reached its end station. On the approaching horizon completely new
ways of looking at the world, construing reality, and understanding the
way we think are emerging. . . distant relations are approaching each other.
And they are not, as one might think, of the North American variety.
If you explore the cultural history of both Europe and America, you will
soon discover that distant relations are a leitmotif in the development of
the so-called ‘Western’ humanistic culture. You only have to scrape off a
few layers of the Greek and Roman cultures to realize that what we call the
Middle East and North Africa today were once predominant in the crea-
tion of that which we call Europe. Greek and Roman culture were both,
all differences aside, dominated by distant relations – which made itself
clear in both art and politics. The art of painting pottery so that it could
last long journeys (art was being distributed by trade even then) – and the
art of rhetoric that could make the voice of the curia or the emperor heard,
univocally, no matter how far the news travelled.
Many geographically based conflicts today are somehow distant cousins
of these ancient relations of commerce and politics which have been cut off
from each other by religion, ideology, and ignorance.
Western Culture is founded on distant relations. What is ‘Western’ in
a sociological meaning of that word – including rationality, democracy,
142

Distant relations: art practice in a global culture 143
technological industry – is the result of almost global influxes from North

Africa, the Middle and Far East (India and China), and Russia. These
distant relations of Western Culture were all represented in the cultural
fabric of European countries and of America, as a multicultural current
moving underneath the more ‘official’ – and increasingly – monocultural
construction of the Western countries as nations. This process towards
defining a national culture, which accelerated in the late 18th and early
19th century, was based upon an exclusion or a merging of the multicul-
tural into one cultural set of representations – language, symbolism, even
clothes. This tendency to integrate the ‘fremmede’1 by alienating it was
part of an identity process as well as a move towards a power structure
centered around the national entity and government.
This movement has been reversed in the Global Culture.
It is possible, then, to envision the global as the revival of the distant
relations in Western Culture, the return of the alienated family members
to Europe – after having been sent into exile or being ‘integrated’ for
several hundreds of years (the Jews were violently punished for running
counter to this process). The consequence of the ‘return of the distant rela-
tions’ creates new conflicts and new hopes; as well as, of course, and once
more, an important historic change of ‘the West’.
What can artists do in that changing context and ever-distant landscape?
The role of art in a Global Culture is framed by communication and
negotiation across vast distances, between far-off, non-Western cultures
and “the West”. Art in a Global Culture is a practice that investigates and
instigates distant relations, and in its course it examines the very founda-
tion of “art” as an expression of human relations – as a production of
communication in a social space.
The artists in a Global Culture do not have a fixed role, they are not
national, European, American, or Indian for that matter. The artists in a
Global Culture are investigators and researchers bordering on anthropol-
ogy and sociology. The Global Culture challenges art to develop new artis-
tic strategies where distant relations become a kind of global sociological
poetics – which is not without precursors.
In the formulation of a sociological poetics of the media in the 1970s,
the French artist and art theoretician Fred Forest coined the term
Sociological Art (Forest, 1977). Sociological Art, according to Forest,
stands in a mimetic relationship with the epistemology of sociology on two
levels. Tactically, it conducts experiments that disclose hidden ideologies;
strategically, it emulates the methods of sociology, which means that art
is an activity that operates with sociological practice whereby it achieves
a traversable interactive dialogue with the public across diverse cultural
landscapes.

La pratique sociologique vise en fait à créer un champ d’expérience pour la

théorie sociologique. Elle fait appel à l’animation, à l’enquête, à une réflexion
interactive non dirigée . . . (Forest, 1977: 48)
The sociological art is agent for the transformation of social reality; it is an

activity not an ideal, an activity, moreover, that replaces the idea of ‘the
beautiful’ with that of ‘the new’. Inspired by Marcel Duchamp, distant
relations replace the physical objects as dialectical material of art.
L’acte artistique concu comme provocation pour créer une relation dialogique,
pour amorcer un échange dialectique. (Forest, 1977: 32)
The unorganized and the structured are knit together into an epistemology
of media practice where ‘the real’ fluctuates and is framed by a network
of distant relations (‘(se) tisse et les enferme dans en réseau de relations’,
Forest, 1977: 63).
The tactics and strategies of sociological art, where reality is seen as a
network of emergent levels constructed by dialogues between distant rela-
tions is the very description of the decisive new forms of representation of
Global Culture. The distant relations that define a global society are the
semiotic and existential reservoir of Global Culture.
A NETWORK OF. . . DISTANT. . . RELATIONS
An artistic practice in a Global Culture is dependent on a network of

distant relations. Relations are all-important; not only because aesthetics
become relational – which may always be the case in any creational process
– the method of navigating the world is new in relation to other artists, the
public, history and geopolitics. Whereas narrow, often proto-nationalistic,
environments of art production used to be the order of the day, the artists
today are constantly distantly related to a network of traveling artists in
the same space–time continuum (the term contemporary art receives new
levels of meaning); and also, maybe even more distantly related to historic
– even historicized – focus points as travelers in the Great Virtuality: the
past, the backwards construction of future reality.
There is no longer one, but several points of focus/departure – and they
do not necessarily exist in a physical place. Rather, they mark out points
of communication: virtual convergences between fugitive, physical identi-
ties. Travels are also traversals. Traversals allow people to move back and
forward between primarily real and primarily virtual environments, repo-
sitioning themselves along the virtuality continuum, according to their

interest and whether they want the physical or virtual to be their primary
focus.
With (curatorial) inspiration from the Latin American writer Carlos
Fuentes, the artists that I want to include in this chapter, Lisa Strömbeck,
Marika Seidler, and Nikolaj Skyum-Larsen are not chosen from a crit-
erion of being interested in the same topic or for working within the same
aesthetic formalisms; the choice of artists is based on a combinatory of
distant relations. The three artists all travel and live in many different parts
of the world. They do not stay in one place for long. The artists chosen are
not only distant related to each other in a tactical sense – the distant rela-
tions are a strategic principle in their practice.
Another common denominator is that the works become hubs for com-
munication between distant relations that, in the process, become tangible
and ‘mental objects’ of reflection and perspective. It is possible to find
several examples of plans or ideas for new kinds of languages that examine
the world, people, patterns, as well as the transformation of the cultural
identity and self-identity of the West.
As a part of the process, the artists were asked (or challenged) to name
one artist to whom they felt distant related, and to give reasons for the
relationship. It became a game of references, inspirations, traditions,
icons, counter-images and stories – as well as how these elements play a
part in their own artistic practice.
MIGRATING ART
Lisa Strömbeck (Sweden), Marika Seidler (Denmark), and Nikolaj

Skyum-Larsen (Denmark/United Kingdom) investigate and explore –
critically, inquisitively, and often provokingly – the new conditions that
are changing the cultural patterns of the West.
The three artists, in many ways totally different from each other, share
one common feature: they are (constantly, it seems) traveling to, living in
and making projects at, different locations in the world. Or, it would be
more precise to describe these locations as destinations – a chain of impor-
tant places in the total network of connections and relations that make up
the artistic geography of these three artists.
Seemingly, all three artists have an interest in crossing some unmarked
barriers of time and place. There is an interesting research going on into
the relation between art and the global situation – working with the inter-
sections of different cultures; of history and the present; the fine line of
relations that have vanished and those that still exist; the layers of personal
memory fading into the common culture; of a search for Identity.

In other words, distant relations are a dominant feature in the prac-

tice and strategy of these artists. The question that will occupy me here
is this: is it possible to define a distinct global sensibility of art that is
defined in ‘distant relations’? And what constitutes, as it were, the distant
(the removed, the transient) and the relational (the common ground, the
enduring) as global artistic features?
To try and answer some of these questions I conducted an experiment. I
constructed an empirical framework and I chose three artists who all prac-
tice distant relations to work within that framework. They are all working
aesthetically with distance as a sociological relational principle.
The empirical enquiry of Distant Relations in the contemporary artistic
practices points towards the very fact that there are points of communica-
tion and virtual convergences between different artists and their practices;
but it also investigates the relational as an interactive principle in terms of
history – and belonging to one. The artist travels – traverses – but art itself
is also a travel; transports of meaning(s), as it were, not just in place, but
also and as much in time and ways of knowing.
Today, a situation where art is both battling against and being
inspired by the possibilities of Global Media that in many ways have
taken the role of the Shaman as a ritual communicator of that which
is culturally ‘common’. Global Media instigates mythologies of the
common. The National State and the media monopolies of the 20th
century had that very same function – to communicate a common cul-
tural language and forms of representation. Today, in 2010, the situation
of Global Media, where all channels are open and the Internet in less
than 20 years has changed the global means of communication radically
(and we do not know the full consequences of that) something decisively
new happens in the development of artistic tactics and strategies. The
three artists from the empirical basis of this chapter are examples of this
development.
To travel and be in many different places on the globe becomes a natural
part of the artistic activity. It becomes integrated in the aesthetic work – to
a point where it almost becomes ‘natural’; a precondition for the artist and
art in a Global Culture.
Marika Seidler is working mainly from Copenhagen and Los Angeles
making film projects that cut across different fields of knowledge. Lisa
Strömbeck is working mostly from Berlin, looking into the recent history
of Germany, especially the personal memory of the East German state.
Nikolaj Skyum-Larsen lives in London and is conducting his projects
from the Middle East – his latest project is based on visits and filming in
the camps of Indian guest workers in Saudi Arabia.
Travelling is no longer just something you do to get to a final destination

to stay for a long time. It is a process, a state of mind and existence. For
these artists travelling, and living (in) different places during the year, is
part of their artistic identity. And it is very much part of their artistic prac-
tice as well. Travelling and living in many different places is an integral
part of the processes – and processing – of art in a Global Culture.
FRAMING A FIELD. . .
In dialogue with the three artists, a process was initiated that should even-
tually end in an exhibition – and very early in this process the working
title Distant Relations (suggested by Carlos Fuentes’s novel, that I was
reading at the time) entered the phase of the discussion led primarily by
emails (Søndergaard, 2006a, b). This, at first, seemed very fitting; at least it
described the status of the three artists being brought together like this . . .
they were distant from each other but related on other levels, across time
and geographic space.
It also appeared that the artists were distant related to each other in an
even more fascinating sense. They are artists working the Global Culture,
and working critically with the effects of change and ‘relationality’, which
is not only to be understood in the sense of Nicolas Baurriaud (Baurriaud,
2002) as an aesthetic framing of experience; it should also be understood in
the sense of Carlos Fuentes, as a transient and mental process of relating
people, things, different cultures, and that which is non-human and not
culturally exposed, to each other – emerging experiences on another level
– as a method (Carlos Fuentes, 1980).
An investigation into the role of the artist in a Global Culture began to
take shape. Is there such a thing as a universal relation – relations that will
never change, always be there? . . . Or did that disappear together with the
old culture and the Western Imperialism? Do distant relations dominate
everything? And what does that imply in terms of artistic practice and in
terms of cultural identity?
Distant relations, it seems, is not only an aesthetic parameter, it names
the condition of globalized art, and the contours of a practice. It is the
backstage of art on the global stage.
Moreover, it is the result of a postcolonial situation where the (so-
called) Third World and the Western world are drifting closer than they
ever were before – whereby distant relations are brought nearer to each
other and becoming the material of artistic practice and imagination.
Closer to home, what does the fact of being distant related to anyone or
anything really mean? How does a distant relation reflect upon the work
of the artist, conceptually and contextually?

EXPERIMENT: NAME A DISTANT RELATION

To take the investigation a step further into the art-sociological strategy
of distant relations, I asked the artists to think of and name one distant
relation – and consider how to use them in the exhibition. These personal
distant relations were brought into the artistic process of making the new
work for the exhibition as an experiment (as a kind of investigation – how
do artists use distant relations in their work?). As a result, three ways of
using the distant relation were formulated – as different as the artists are
different.
Nikolaj Bendix Skyum-Larsen’s personal ‘distant relation’ is Bruce
Naumann – specifically his work from 1971: The True Artist Helps the
World by Revealing Mystic Truths (Naumann). This work is about the
exploration of existing social structures, and, as Skyum-Larsen explains,
‘good art takes a responsibility for the exploration of different mecha-
nisms in the world in new, unpredictable and, at times, irrational ways’
(Søndergaard, M., 2006).
From this notion, Skyum-Larsen developed three works that all draw
upon experiences from his stays in the Middle East. Most directly inspired
by Naumann is the film entitled Mystic Truths (Larsen N.B.). The film is
a visual diary of experiences and observations from a journey to Palestine
in the fall of 2006 (with film photographer Jonas Mortensen). The sound
installation Obliterated Landscape is structured around sound recordings
from the artist’s journey through Palestine (Israel, Gaza and the West
Bank) It is framed by a spiral or landscape of 10,000 cards (the same size
as playing cards) with a motive from the region and its borders (Larsen
N.B.). Inshallah (By the Will of God) is a work in neon. The word
‘Inshallah’ is written in neon. The Will of God is a commonly used expres-
sion when you speak of something that may happen in the future. The
artwork shows a radical difference between the modern Western world
and the Arab world. Should the big effort be made in this life, or the next?
(Larsen N.B., Inshallah).
Lisa Strömbeck personal distant relation is the Danish artist Jytte
Rex. In the photo series If you look back, the artist investigates her own
work method and compares it to the sociological and feministic strat-
egy of Jytte Rex. Her works unite sociological methods, using video
as a strategic tool, with a number of very personal portraits of people
from the country that was East Germany. The video Denkmal intro-
duces us to the rest of the installation and shows the giant statue of
Marx and Engels in Berlin – and the flow of tourists that photograph
and pose in front of it. In the video installation Es war ja nicht alles
schlecht, she examines the effects on the citizens of East Germany of the

massive transformation of society that followed the fall of the wall in

Berlin.
Marika Seidler chose ‘science’ as her own distant relation. She works
strategically with anthropological and scientific investigations of politics,
culture and the relations between man and animal. Ani-human is a video
installation that consists of three video films and three video interviews
shot in California and Idaho. They focus on Man in conversation with
animals. For instance, we see Susan singing with wolves, and a couple
is speaking to a bird in their living room. At the border to science, and
the anthropological method, Ani-human becomes an exploration of the
animal in Man – or, perhaps, the animal behind Man and vice versa?
The three artists expose three artistic modalities that are active in
a Global Culture. The three modalities translate the distant relation
into a practice where art actively: (1) explores and works consciously
with cultural differences; differences become an aesthetic material; (2)
uses scientific methods – sociological, anthropological, ethnographic, or
psychological – in the development of new forms of representation that
work critically with the Western post colonial and national-romantic
cultures; and (3) seeks relations that lie outside that which is given at first
hand – outside the objectified sensibility which the Western materialistic
culture is filled with. They point towards a global memory, at animals, at
the principles of ‘family resemblance’ between things and their representa-
tions founded in ‘distant relations’.
THREE LEVELS OF GLOBAL CULTURE. . .
‘Art and language are both a fundamental index for the vitality of a
culture. If art and language die, the culture dies.’ Before the fall of the Iron
Curtain, the French philosopher Michel Serres made this observation and
added, polemically: ‘Maybe, today, it is not a question of how a culture is
kept alive, but how you avoid its destruction?’ (Serres, 1985).
Today, 20 years after the fall of the Iron Curtain, this question has been
distorted and expanded into other and more drastic dimensions: it is not
a question of the survival of cultural nations that dominates the political
agenda but rather a still more urgent need to understand the dynamics of
the distant relations as realities in a still more intensive globalized nego-
tiation of culture on still more unknown and unknowable terms. In the
period after 1989, art has changed its modality and attitude in a way that
is so insistently pluralistic, and yet so fugitive that it seems hard to capture
– or to conceptualize. The question is, whether this is a matter of crisis or
truly something new, something that gives art practice a level of freedom

the like of which has not been seen before? What is the status of art in the
Age of Global Culture – is it destructive or constructive?
To try and establish which the case is, it could be helpful to distinguish
between three levels, or stages, of Global Culture. One stage of Global
Culture is really internationality, that grows out of modernity – maybe
even as the replacement of modernity? This internationalism is culturally
anchored in the counter cultures of the European metropolis as a kind of
national identity critique which carries some affinity to the avant-garde
movement of the early 20th century. But it is also a reaction to the premise
of cultural and political civilization: Imperialism, and the colonization
of the Middle East, Far East, Africa, South America, and so on. Global
Culture, at this stage, ‘inherits’ a whole package of huge paradoxes and
challenges that symptomatically are centered on immigration and cultural
exclusion. This stage of Global Culture, which is still very much active,
places the human being in front of the possibility of an anti-systemic
liberty:
Yet it is no exaggeration to say that liberation as an intellectual mission, born in

the resistance and opposition to the confinements and ravages of imperialism,
has now shifted from the settled, established, and domesticated dynamics of
culture to its unhoused, decentered, and exile energies, energies whose incarna-
tion today is the migrant, and whose consciousness is that of the intellectual
and artist in exile, the political figure between domains, between forms, between
homes, and between languages. (Said, 1993: 403)
The second stage of Global Culture is that of the expanded market which
includes a risk-factor into every cultural activity (Sennett, 2005) and, on
top of that, places the modern individual in a central, albeit extremely
exposed position (Giddens, 2001). These are the signs of the culture of
global capitalism, but also of other types of economies that want com-
merce and goods to move freely across borders. This stage of Global
Culture is fundamentally a-democratic; it is neither for nor against in the
sense that it is neither governed by nor breaking down the laws of regula-
tion which the Western democratic system is founded upon.
Both the first and second levels or stages of Global Culture are still very
much active. The third level is the Global Culture of everybody’s percep-
tion of having direct access to the entire world – either as an open source of
resources, as a traveler/tourist, or, by shortcutting restrictions or geopoliti-
cal imbalances, as immigrants or refugees. This stage of Global Culture is
motivated neither by a certain practice nor by economic factors but involves
a localization of the Global Culture into the circuits of everyday life – what
the American media art theoretician Lev Manovich, with inspiration
from the French philosopher Michel de Certeau (Certeau, 1980/1984), has

termed ‘the practice of everyday media life’ (Manovich, 2009). Different

cultures meet on a local and social level, and modernity ends as a purely
Western project, but is renegotiated as a global project. Global Culture is
not modernity, however. Global Culture is a hybrid-democratic and mul-
ticultural dynamic, which is also very politically unstable and flowing with
paradoxes and potential conflicts; and, even though English is becoming
more and more dominant, without a real common language.
To return to Michel Serres, we may repeat the initial question: If art
and language is the index of a culture, what does this tell us about Global
Culture (Serres, 1985)? Michel Serres expands on the role and function of
science in the Global Culture by making us aware of an important differ-
ence: the exact science operates with a technical use of the ‘outer’ world
whereas the human sciences create a number of technologies that explore
‘inner’ worlds. Techniques, Serres claims, create the visible reality whereas
time emerges from the humanistic technologies as the tool of scientific
perspective. If techniques are governing in their own right, the scientific
perspective of time is often forgotten. If technologies are predominant, the
visible reality – the outer world – as well as the possibilities of change, is
often forgotten. By the same token, the humanistic sciences, according to
Serres, have forgotten their foundation in technology – in the Greek term
‘Techne’ (Aristotle, [350 BCE] 2001).
Technology plays an important social and cultural function, which is to
maintain society, in a sense. To remember, or to re-remember, this distant
relation between technology and human society is essential for the survival
of the civilization, Serres claims. Only art practice and the re-modulation
of language in a global context may redefine technology in the human
domain.
TOWARDS A FOURTH LEVEL OF GLOBAL

CULTURE?
In the works of Marika Seidler the tendency to connect technical creation

of relations and emergence of temporal distance, the exact and the human-
istic, is important. The urge to make art history more exact and more
conscious about the hidden technologies is ever present. In other words,
it should be made conscious that it is from a humanistic technology that
(art) history is constructed. It is the function of aesthetics to be made con-
temporary by technologies, which may happen in a number of ways; and
it is history’s function to put the network of relations behind this process
of contemporary aesthetics into context.
The contemporary Global Art is, when it is challenged and occupied by

the central problematic listed above – on both the conceptual and formal
levels – not necessarily an expressively commercialized art. Often, it is
achieving something else and altogether different. It is extremely critical on
some levels that the classical art history or humanistic research at large has
been unable to discover. More importantly, it is extremely experimental on
a social level – beyond the formal and conceptual levels of aesthetic avant-
garde. And finally, it is very insistent on its own contemporeanity – its own
temporality and timing – on many levels, distantly related to each other.
The family likeness of ideologies operating behind the curtains of
culture and society in the late Western society is the subject of Lisa
Strömbeck’s art works. This is implemented by utilizing a dialogue
between different techniques and humanistic technologies. By using the
methods of media based aesthetics she explores the sociology of global
humanistic technologies – the inner aesthetics of a society based on distant
relations. Contemporary Global Art has an exact sensibility, in the optics
of Strömbeck. It seeks reality through time, via the contemporary, and the
breaches in linear time (the fall of the Iron Curtain, the breakdown of the
societal system of Soviet Russia as a believable system, and so on).
The three examples of distantly related art practice point towards a
fourth kind of Global Culture – one which is founded on a new science
that is distant related to both exact and humanistic sciences, but which is
formulating a new epistemology that gives both of them a different direc-
tion. In Nikolaj Bendix Skyum-Larsen’s works we are looking at a ‘differ-
ent’ culture without ‘understanding’ it; we are observing it, but not as an
object. There are no rules from a single culture at play here. Instead, we
become distantly related to this culture when we accept the family likeness
between the people and activities taking place there and ourselves. In the
film, we are placed in a distant relation to the people from Gaza – filtering
European culture into that of the Middle East. We are the coffee residue
that is left, when the film is over – the dust after the media storm has
ceased. The West is in the Middle East – and (to put it in Latin) vice versa.
This tendency of scientific practice in a Global Culture could be
described as a kind of empirical poetics. This poetics has created a gulf
between a conceptual system and a language game of knowledge. The con-
ceptual system is being transformed – and renegotiated on a global scale in
the language games of a Global Sociological Art.
NOTE
1. ‘Fremmede’ originally means ‘the other’ in Danish (in Kirkegaard and modern existen-
tialist writing), but in postmodern times also more commonly refers to an ‘alien’.

REFERENCES
Aristotle ([350 BCE] 2001). Nicomachean Ethics, book IV. London: Routledge.
Baurriaud, N. (2002). Relational Aesthetics. France: Les Presses du réel.
Certeau, M.D. (1980/1984). L’Invention du Quotidien, translated into English as
The Practice of Everyday Life, by Steven Rendall. Arts de Faire. Union générale
d’éditions, Vol. 1: 10–18.
Forest, F. (1977). Art Sociologique. Paris: Gallimard.
Fuentes, C. (1980). Distant Relations. London: Vintage.
Giddens, A. (2001). The Global Third Way Debate. Cambridge: Polity.
Larsen, N.B. Inshallah. Distant Relations – Catalogue. The Museum of
Contemporary Art, Roskilde, Denmark.
Larsen, N.B. Mystic Truths. Distant Relations – Catalogue. The Museum of
Contemporary Art, Roskilde, Denmark.
Larsen, N.B. Obliterated Landscape. Distant Relations – Catalogue. The Museum
of Contemporary Art, Roskilde, Denmark.
Manovich, L. (2009). The practice of everyday (media) life. In M. Jacobsen and
M. Søndergaard (eds), Re_action – The Digital Archive Experience. Renegotiating
the Competences of the Archive and the (art)Museum in the 21st Century,
240. Copenhagen/Aalborg: CIT – Copenhagen Institute of Technology/Alborg
University Press.
Naumann, B. The True Artist Helps the World by Revealing Mystic Truths.
Distant Relations – Catalogue. Museum of Contemporary Art, Roskilde,
Denmark.
Said, E. (1993). Culture and Imperialism. London: Vintage.
Sennett, R. (2005). The Culture of the New Capitalism. New Haven: Yale
University Press.
Serres, M. (1985). Statues. Paris: Flammarion.
Søndergaard, M. (Curator) (2006a). Distant Relations – Art in the Age of Global
Culture (exhibition).
Søndergaard, M. (2006b). Distant Relations – Art in a Global Culture. Catalogue.
Roskilde: The Museum of Contemporary Art.

8. Art and entrepreneurship, apart and
together
Daved Barry
A central question in this volume has been “might entrepreneurship and

art be related?”. . . with “might” meaning (1) are they? and (2) could they
be? With respect to “are they?”, it turns out that there are a number of
similarities. Schumpeter’s notion of creative destruction has been repeat-
edly brought up as a joining point, with many of the contributors noting
that artists consciously seek something like this, while entrepreneurs sort
of fall into it, stirring things up as they pursue their creations (Bonnafous-
Boucher et al.; Lindqvist; Meisiek and Haefliger; Scherdin; Scherdin and
Zander; all this volume). Both fields tend to be “norm and rule breakers”
(Lindqvist, this volume). Both are involved with creation and creativ-
ity, with creation being the new-but-not-necessarily-useful and creativ-
ity being the new-and-necessarily-useful; thus newness and novelty play
central roles in both entrepreneurship and art (Bonnafous-Boucher et
al., this volume). Given the “start” character of each (both start-up and
startle), the value of both the entrepreneur’s and artist’s contributions
only becomes apparent over time (Lindqvist, this volume). I would also
add that both constantly walk the line between newness, the workable,
and that which “has legs” – ideas that stand out from the others, and can
walk far and well.
Although they sometimes look alike and employ the very same actors,
art and entrepreneurship also exhibit considerable differences. Take
intention as an example. Contemporary artists seek newness for its own
sake – new views that others will find appealing because of their sheer dif-
ference. This search for difference may be directed at finding perspectives
that are completely new (for example Arnold Schoenberg’s 12 tone tech-
nique) or at reframing, reinterpreting, and challenging existing practices;
for example, Yann Toma’s reframing of electricity production, or Julien
Prévieux’s wonderful “Letters of non-motivation” (both are detailed in
Bonnafous-Boucher et al., this volume). In many ways, art’s whole raison
d’être is upending rather than appending. As a field, it fundamentally tries
to understand what upending is and how it might work in a huge variety
154

Art and entrepreneurship, apart and together 155
of ways. Correspondingly, art is critically concerned with “seeing”, with

figuratively and literally opening up the eyes, senses, and mind.
In contrast, the entrepreneur seeks newness for some other purpose,
sometimes financial, but frequently not. In a previous project (Rindova,
Barry and Ketchen, 2009), my colleagues and I demonstrated how entre-
preneurs are often unconcerned with Schumpeter’s rather depersonalized
and externalized notions of creative destruction and more caught up with
person-centric, emancipatory considerations around “getting free”, “break-
ing up”, and “breaking away”. Such departures are not undertaken because
they are interesting in themselves, but because the would-be entrepreneur is
sick and tired of how things are. Similar conclusions are reached in Steyaert
and Hjorth’s series on entrepreneurship (for example, Hjorth and Steyaert,
2009). I recognize that many artists also attempt to break up and break free,
but in the end the artist’s breakaway is answerable to a different standard. It
must be inherently interesting and get us thinking about the notion of break-
ing away. And the breakaways that are invoked must first stop and then
redirect our normal train of thought; detournements rather than just arrests
(Bonnafous-Boucher et al., this volume; Meisiek and Haefliger, this volume).
Meanwhile, the entrepreneur’s breakaway doesn’t have to be interesting
at all. It must first and foremost provide a practical way of getting from
A to B. It can be marginally or extremely different from other pathways,
but it must be fundamentally workable, and workable in a superior way.
Think of Dell Computer, where the primary rupture was the elimination
of retail computer sales. Michael Dell didn’t come up with this because he
wanted to playfully contest the concept of market channels. Rather, he
wanted to improve the state of affairs and sell computers at a low price
while keeping his margins high. He wasn’t into playfulness or meaningful-
ness; he just wanted to make a lot of money via more efficient distribution
mechanisms. From an artistic point of view, there is really nothing inter-
esting in the proposition, even though it was quite novel and completely
altered the face of the computer industry.
The two fields also differ structurally. Art is a formally recognized pro-
fession, long upheld through professional training programs, degrees, and
rigorous qualification systems. While in most countries calling oneself an
“artist” is not legally protected the way “lawyer” or “doctor” is, it never-
theless is a closely monitored practice that uses interlocking institutions to
determine “who’s in” and “who’s out” (for example, galleries, museums, art
criticism, award ceremonies). Comparatively, entrepreneurship is more an
act than a profession. While there are many entrepreneurship associations,
funding bodies, and millions of people calling themselves entrepreneurs, it
is some other profession that provides a foundation on which entrepreneur-
ial efforts exist: the entrepreneurial lawyer, doctor, or for that matter, artist.

Summary
Thus we have these two fields, dissimilar in a number of ways, yet looking
to each other for a lift. My sense is that entrepreneurship has more to
gain from getting a ride with art than the other way around. As the other
chapters have suggested, most artists are only artists some of the time.
Most of their remaining hours are spent in entrepreneurial work – raising
funds, promoting their work, managing portfolios, staging exhibitions and
performances, and so on. So they tend to know the entrepreneurial side of
things well; perhaps more than they would like. Meanwhile, few of the mil-
lions of entrepreneurs out there are artists, and probably even fewer have
thought about the arts as a possible accompanist.
To this end, I turn to the second part of “might art and entrepreneurship
be related?” How might art be brought directly into entrepreneurship?
Might there be an art of entrepreneurship in contemporary art terms,
and if so, why would we want it? My thoughts here build on some earlier
theorizing that I’ve done around art’s definition (Barry, 2008; Barry and
Meisiek, 2010, forthcoming), which in turn builds on several decades of
debate within art philosophy (cf. Davies, 2007).
AN ART OF ENTREPRENEURSHIP?
Let’s first do a bit of stage setting by considering whether there can even
be an art of entrepreneurship in today’s terms. As with many other “art
ofs” (Barry, 2008; Barry and Meisiek, forthcoming), the popular literature
would say “yes”. A quick search for books that use “art” and “entrepre-
neurship” in their titles returned a sizable list: for example, The Lost Art of
Entrepreneurship: Rediscovering The Principles That Will Guarantee Your
Success (Gravely, 2001); Art and Science of Entrepreneurship (Sexton and
Smilor, 1986); The Art of the Start: The Time-Tested, Battle-Hardened
Guide for Anyone Starting Anything (Kawasaki, 2004); and the book The
Art of Entrepreneurship where the only given author is “Top Business
Consultants” (Top Business Consultants, 2004). With respect to this latter
work, we are told how to ‘generate credible and feasible business ideas,
assess a business opportunity, assess the competition, identify and exploit
competitive advantage . . . Real-world lessons you can’t get anywhere
else.’ The reviewers appear to love it: ‘By taking a 50,000 foot view, the
authors place their endeavors in a context rarely gleaned from text books
or treatise’ (Birenbaum, 2009).
I’m not sure what there is to see from 50,000 feet, other than passing
clouds, desperate food, and those long queues to the loo. My eyes are not

the best, but even with glasses and binoculars I cannot say that I’ve been
able to see entrepreneurship from that height. What I can say is that these
books look a lot like the other “art of” books and articles that appear in
airplanes and airports, regardless of whether they are 50,000 feet up or
down. A common denominator is that their “art part” looks nothing like
the art that appears in contemporary art discourse (or this book). Instead,
these books are using an art=craft definition of the term, where “art”
means ‘skill in doing anything as the result of knowledge and practice’
(Oxford English Dictionary, 2009). Up until the late 1700s, the terms art
and craft were virtually synonymous, with “craft” meaning ‘skill, ability
in planning or performing, ingenuity in constructing, dexterity’ (Oxford
English Dictionary, 2009); this “skillfulness” was particularly associated
with handicrafts such as carpentry and pottery, and with the achievement
of pre-defined standards. Hence, these books attempt to give readers
highly utilitarian, craft-like ways to achieve sure-fire results. Interestingly,
they may also be fueling notions about what constitutes “proper” entre-
preneurship, delimiting what does and does not count as entrepreneurship
and what is or isn’t eligible for funding. If what one wants are craft-based
recipes that can be steadily refined and turned into canonical rules, then
this centuries old approach to art is fine enough. But it falls apart if the
goal is something like artistry as it occurs in the contemporary art world.
Moving towards a “finer art” of entrepreneurship requires bringing
in contemporary notions of art. One way is to make entrepreneurship
the subject matter for formal art projects – projects which are put up on
the formal artworld stage. This is already happening in many places (see
Bonnafous-Boucher et al., this volume). An example is Henrik Schrat’s
(2007) Outsourcing, a comic-style portrayal of outsourcing dynamics ren-
dered in old style wood veneer; the designs of the various woodcuts were
deliberately outsourced to a group in southern India who did not speak
English, thus bringing some of the difficulties with outsourcing into sharp
relief. Christo’s and Jean Claude’s oeuvre has similar overtones, as does
Mikael Scherdin’s nonTVTV project (2007). Each incorporates consid-
erations of entrepreneurial venturing into their work, the former through
using a very entrepreneurial business model that eschews public funding,
and the latter by playing with the whole business of TV startups.
A different direction, and the one I will pursue here, is to ask whether
regular entrepreneurs who are not working in the arts can nevertheless
make their practice artistic. To answer this, we require a definition of art
that can hold outside the formal and largely Western “artworld” (Danto,
1964). Stephen Davies’ (2007: 51–67) distinction between “upper case” and
“lower case” art – Art and art – is useful in this respect.1 In Davies’ formu-
lation, upper case Art is that which is formally directed at professional art

circles, and which is judged on artistic properties that are referential and
context bound; for example, ‘the work’s location within the tradition (if
and how it is original or unusual, whether it emulates, subverts, rejects or
redirects the default conventions and art practices of the time, the extent to
which its use of the tradition is self-conscious, the genres and styles within
which it is located, influences to which it is subject), as well as from its title
and its use of symbolization, quotation, allusion, parody, irony, allegory,
and the like’ (Davies, 2006: 227).
Davies’ small case art, in contrast, is not intended for the professional
artworld and is more akin to folk art and Ellen Dissanayake’s “making
special” (1980). Davies argues that lower case art depends on its aesthetic
properties in ways that Art does not; qualities such as ‘unity, balance,
integration, lifelessness, serenity, sombreness, dynamism, power, vivid-
ness, delicacy, triteness, sentimentality, tragedy, grace, daintiness, dumpi-
ness, elegance, garishness and beauty’ (Davies, 2006: 226). Here I would
also add the ludic, grotesque, and sublime (Strati, 1992). Objects and/or
practices become lower case art when their aesthetic properties are funda-
mentally required for them to succeed – to produce their intended effects.
If you take away a particular aesthetic attribute, the object/process no
longer functions as it was meant to. Historically, things like Maseratis,
Apple’s computers, and many other designer products fall into this realm.
People are attracted to them because of their pronounced and particular
aesthetic qualities, and they would fail at some level if these properties
were not present. Davies’ points become especially salient in the case of
“first art”, objects that were made for pragmatic purposes but which later
became designated as Art (Davies, 2007: 68–83). Michelangelo’s ceiling
in the Sistine Chapel is an example. The paintings there were meant to
provide a practical portal for religious contemplation and spiritual uplift,
yet perceiving their sublimity is essential for this uplift to occur.
Davies’ approach takes us part of the way there, but I feel more is
needed to consider entrepreneurship in arts-based terms. And that would
be the middle realm where art mixes with Art, and aesthetics and formal
artistry interlace. Rather than think of art versus Art, it may be more
useful to think of art↔Art, where various mixtures of aesthetic and artistic
considerations result in differing shades of meaning and emphasis. As I’ve
suggested in Figure 8.1, an object or process can lean towards being art
or Art, and where, following cluster theories of art (Davies, 2007: 39–42;
Gaut, 2000), the more an object/process possesses one of the above prop-
erties, the more artful (Austin and Devin, 2004). There is a bit of room at
both the left and right hand sides of the figure, given that I believe even
the “highest” of Art still relies to some extent on aesthetics (see Davies’
2006 footnote #8, p. 227), while the “lowest” of art will also have at least a

aesthetic artistic
attributes art attributes
unity originality
beauty redirects
balance subverts
grotesque upends
sublimity parodies
tragedy quotes
etc. Art etc.
Figure 8.1 art and Art
modicum of artistic properties if people are to think of it in artistic terms

– originality if nothing else.
Following the old yet stalwart constructivist arguments (Barry, 1996),
such attributes are socially determined and constantly in flux. Take the
entrepreneurial example of Tamagotchi, a digital pet invented by Aki
Maita that requires feeding, waste removal, attention, and in some ver-
sions, breeding. When it was first introduced in 1996, the concept had a
number of artistic properties. It strangely crossed the worlds of familial
desire, robotry, cute gadgetry, and psychologies of identity, development,
family, and community. That one could spend one’s days caring for,
trying to grow, and worrying about a software program lest it die, was
as upending in its own way as Duchamp’s urinal was. Today, however,
the Tamagotchi’s sales are relatively low, and many people have forgot-
ten about it as the whole idea of “raising software” has turned banal.
Whatever artistic properties it had before have more or less disappeared;
indeed, the toy’s controversies were played down to sell more stock,
whereas Duchamp’s controversies were played up to create more meaning.
Having determined that entrepreneurship can be artful, we are now in
a position to consider how artistic approaches might be useful, and how
entrepreneurial artfulness might be accomplished. Starting with the ques-
tion of functionality, if we think of entrepreneurship as trafficking in the
new – new products and services, new operations and distribution chan-
nels, new ideas for new ventures, and so on – and if we further consider that
artistic practice has long searched for (and found) ways to invent, locate,
and frame the new – then it seems likely that entrepreneurs could enhance
their own quests for the new by employing artistic thinking and methods.
Second, artistic approaches are well known for their ability to draw out the
imagination, that process of ‘forming a mental concept of what is not actu-
ally present to the senses’ (Oxford English Dictionary, 2009) which in turn

can assist creativity (the production of potentially new and useful ideas).
Third, artistic practice concentrates on how to distinguish one’s creations,
something that entrepreneurs typically must do if they are to succeed.
Again, the arts have been at this a long time and have built up quite a
repertoire of “distinguishing” techniques and ways of thinking about dis-
tinction. A fourth reason is attraction. Artistic approaches emphasize and
are good at generating appeal, excitement, pleasure, meaningfulness, atten-
tion, and depth, things which the entrepreneur must bring to her products
and services and which she needs if she is to sustain herself in her work.
Despite these arguments, the fact remains that artistry, as noted earlier,
is not necessary for entrepreneurial efforts to succeed. Artistry by itself
will not address the more bedrock reasons for entrepreneurial failures
– inadequate financing, not gaining legitimacy, failure to find a market/
customer, failure to offer a flawless product/service, and/or infighting
(Bhide, 2000). Further, as Bhide (2000) points out, novelty, meaningful-
ness, and even interest may be irrelevant for most entrepreneurial ven-
tures, which may mean that entrepreneurial artistry may be of value only
in tangential ways – perhaps where the “dream” is particularly figural
(Rindova, Barry and Ketchen, 2009).
CULTIVATING ENTREPRENEURIAL ARTISTRY
Given that artistry might provide some assistance for some entrepreneurs,
how might it be cultivated? At a broad level, I think the artistic entrepre-
neur needs to become proficient at two interlinked practices: employing an
(a)Artmind and minding the (a)Art (see Figure 8.2).
“Employing an artmind” refers to perceiving, thinking, and working
like an artist. Like other mindsets (see Howard Gardner’s 1993 work
on multiple intelligences), it involves certain attentional and associative
patterns, values, heuristics, and logics. To develop such thinking also
requires “minding the art”: looking at art and artistic processes from a
variety of fields – the conceptual arts, music, visual arts, literature, and
so on, both within the Arts and the arts. Each arena has different things
to offer, ranging from how to create new and intriguing concepts to how
a venture might be storied, characterized, and narrated. Just as the entre-
preneur must be mindful of other business practices and knowledgeable
about the technologies involved in a venture, he or she should, if an artistic
turn is aspired to, become familiar with how different artists in different
fields generate and work with artistic and aesthetic attributes. A question
arises as to how this minding should go. Is it enough to be exposed to
art, or is some kind of deeper engagement necessary, particularly within

employing an
(a)Artmind
aesthetic
approaches to
entrepreneurship
minding the craft
(a)Art approaches to
entrepreneurship
art–Art
approaches to
entrepreneurship
Figure 8.2 Minding the (a)Art and employing an (a)Artmind
educational programs on entrepreneurship? My thoughts on this lean

towards the latter. Looking back at the history of corporate art collection,
it is evident that having Art around has had little impact on how work is
conducted. Given that entrepreneurs have even less time and attention to
give to their core work than their corporate counterparts, I have no reason
to believe that merely being exposed to art or Art would have an effect
on entrepreneurial efforts. Rather, one would need to engage the entre-
preneur with the concepts inherent in the art, systematically asking about
their relevance for the entrepreneur’s work.
An Artmind at Work
To illustrate how an Artmind might work (and “might” is the operative

term here), I would like to give an example from an ongoing project that
I’ve been doing with Stefan Meisiek, where we’ve asked various profes-
sional artists to work on Harvard Business School cases out loud, asking
them to approach the case “as an artist would”. We have also compared
their verbal protocols and solutions to analyses provided by seasoned
business executives. Not surprisingly, the artists’ responses possess numer-
ous artistic attributes, ranging from deconstructive ruptures to playful
surprise. In one instance we asked Henrik Schrat, a well established visual
and conceptual artist working from Berlin, to analyse and discuss the
Harvard Business Review case “Oil and Wasser” (Reimus, 2004), which
portrays a problematic merger between two biscuit companies, one British
and one German.

Like our other artists, Henrik began with the ludic – looking for funny
incidents, oddities, and poking fun at either the characters or the plot-
line. He made up humorous inversions and dark animations, deliberately
bringing in politically incorrect things like ‘it could be funny if the Brits
put on spiked German helmets and stuck the German biscuits on the
spike.’ Where the executive solutions emphasized a deductive, rationalist
logic (‘What’s causing the conflict and what will this lead to?’), Henrik
mostly used associative logics, saying ‘This reminds me of . . .’. He tried
on, kept, or discarded various associations based on their potential for cre-
ating surprise and edginess. While the executives used reductive terms like
“personnel relocation”, “key performance indicators”, or “cost of capital”
to keep things objective and abstract, Henrik continually attempted to
personalize the situation and infuse it with sensory descriptions: ‘Maybe
we should arrange a meeting between the two CEOs, the ex-girlfriend, and
the taxi driver who can only say yes or no,’ or ‘This whole thing comes
down to that dull brown German hotel where they’ve been meeting. I’m
sure there are years of cigarette smoke and greasy paintings on the walls
. . . that dull drabness is the center point of this case.’ Whereas the execu-
tives developed carefully ordered chains of solutions that would make the
firms profitable and the employees motivated, Henrik’s final solution was
more of a gestalt. It consisted of inviting the executives of both companies
to jointly host a “high tea”, replete with their best biscuits, silver, arrange-
ments, serving processes, and so on. The kicker was that the tea would be
held in Bolivia, staffed by short, colorfully dressed Bolivians who spoke
little English. Using his insight about the dull German hotel, he reasoned
that the whole case situation lacked color and contrast. Taking the Brits
and the Germans to an exotic place would highlight their European
similarities, force them to step out of their formalities, and provide a much
more lively platform for co-working. Comparatively, the executives’ solu-
tions had none of this. Instead, they concentrated on pay cuts and pay
rises, confrontational negotiations, mapping the industry’s competition,
and so on.
Both solution sets are workable, but the “Bolivian Solution” has many
more artistic and aesthetic attributes. Returning to Stephen Davies’ (2006)
artistic and aesthetic lists, Henrik’s proposal clearly rejects, subverts, and
redirects default conventions, invites parody and irony, and works heavily
with symbolism. Aesthetically, his solution is highly colored (physically
and emotionally), dynamic, lively, vivid, and in its own way, quite elegant;
I can imagine that this single act would efficiently accomplish all the things
that the executive analysts wanted, and considerably more. Moreover,
the aesthetics and artistries interlink and assist one another. His empha-
sis on color and liveliness serve as important departure points and force

a life-centered reconsideration of the companies’ existing practices. By

insisting on short Bolivian waiters who do not speak much English, he sets
up a parody that can be used to form a lively tension between the status
quo and new forms of doing. Having the companies jointly make a “high”
tea (and a decidedly non-50,000 foot one at that), using one table and
their best wares, and generally emphasizing the aesthetics of refinement
and delicacy amidst the countervailing aesthetics of a rough and ready
environment, pushes his symbolism around “haves” and “have nots” to
a high level.
Process-wise, Henrik did several things that resulted in an artistic solu-
tion. He consciously kept an idea of what “artistic” would look and feel like
constantly in front of him. Second, he constantly used humor and colorful
association to stimulate his imagination and to bridge possible solutions
and problem framings. Third, he regularly inverted things, asking how
some feature of the case would look if its opposite were invoked, if little
things were made central and big things were thrown off balance, and/
or if static things were animated and current movements were redirected
or temporarily slowed down. Consistent with Austin and Devin’s (2004)
observations of “artful making”, he worked iteratively, rapidly making
many rough conceptual prototypes, trying them on for size, and watching
for how the trials would and could open up his thinking. There was no
separate period of analysis and solution making. Rather, possible small
solutions (for example the idea of wearing German helmets with spikes)
triggered analytical insights which provoked more potential solutions.
As he spun out different solutions, he toggled between considerations of
surprise, liveliness, and doability. For instance, he rejected the “Spiked
Helmet” direction early on, saying that despite its potential for surprise, it
would probably create more rather than less animosity and more closure
rather than opening.
An artmind at Work
The Bolivian Solution shows what can happen when someone with years
of artistic training tackles a business issue. But what of entrepreneurs who
are not formally schooled in art? Can they generate similar outcomes?
To answer this, I turn to another example, this time of Dee Hock and
the founding of VISA International. Karl Weick (2004: 37–8) provides a
wonderful telling of the tale, but the essence of it is that, after two years
of trying to forge an international credit system (VISA), the participating
members could not reach the necessary agreements and were prepar-
ing to disband. Dee Hock, chairman of the organizing committee, had
been reflecting on the progress that had been made and concluded that

whenever things had been going well, two drivers were present: the will to
succeed and the willingness to compromise. With this in mind, Hock com-
missioned a local jeweler to make cuff links for all the participants, each
one depicting half the globe, one saying “the will to succeed” and the other
“the grace to compromise”. On the last dinner of the gathering, held at a
fancy Sausalito restaurant, Hock passed out the elegantly wrapped cuff
links and said:
Will you please wear the cuff links to the meeting in the morning? When we
part we will take with us a reminder for the rest of our lives that the world can
never be united through us because we lack the will to succeed and the grace to
compromise. But if by some miracle our differences dissolve before morning,
this gift will remind us that the world was united because we did have the will to
succeed and the grace to compromise. (Weick, 2004: 38)
The long ensuing silence was finally broken by a Canadian banker who
had already withdrawn from the consortium. ‘You miserable bastard!’
he declared jokingly. Subsequently, everyone wore their cuff links to the
next day’s meeting, resolved their various disagreements, and gave birth
to VISA International.
The VISA example suggests a kind of stage artistry, replete with the
building of suspense and the skillful use of props (the beautifully wrapped
cuff links), settings (the “last supper” at the expensive restaurant), and
high oratory (“the world can never be united”) to create powerful alle-
gorical and symbolic effects. Aesthetic properties became a platform for
developing artistic reach. When the expensive and innocuous cuff links,
seemingly given as thank you gifts, were discovered to be a Trojan horse,
the subsequent levels of surprise, rupture, and invocation of a different
world view were pushed to new heights. Hock’s staging had also thrown
open the whole issue of control. Though everyone was ostensibly there
of their own free will, Hock’s actions made it almost impossible to leave,
raising many questions about individual autonomy vs. group membership.
Like the previous example, Hock also used associative logics and play to
come up with a gesture that would temporarily arrest current understand-
ings and, without forcing a particular pathway, would nevertheless open
the situation to new resonances.
Thus, it appears that entrepreneurs not formally schooled in the arts
can enact artistry, at least artistry with a small “a”, and they probably do
so quite often. Though I earlier suggested that artistry will not solve the
entrepreneur’s basic problems, the VISA example indicates that artistic
moves can, on occasion, dramatically shift the playing field, calling some
fields into question and opening up others.

Ongoing Entrepreneurial Artistry?
The VISA example points largely to a kind of “one off” type of artistry,
enacted out of desperation. Yet other more structural and ongoing forms
are possible – ones where artistry is regularly cultivated. Google is one
example, where founders Brin and Page instituted a variety of unusual pol-
icies and structures which continue to have many unanticipated effects: for
example, their mandate that “we will do no evil” (a quote from Marvel’s
superhero comics), their dubbing of competitors as “frenemies” (Auletta,
2009), and their formal use of play and play toys in the workplace (cf.
Rindova et al., 2009). A number of “art firms” (Guillet de Monthoux,
2004) also have artistic thinking built into their organizational structures –
for example, Etoy (Meisiek and Haefliger, this volume) and Yann Toma’s
Ouest-Lumière Company (Bonnafous-Boucher et al., this volume). While
these organizations exhibit aspects of their artistic organizing, there are
those that work this way without the exhibitional focus, turning space into
content. One that I find especially compelling is “flutgraben e.v.”, a decid-
edly quixotic, yet successful art studio situated in an old riverside factory
in what was formerly East Berlin. The building is made up of numerous
studios, offices, and living quarters, all of which can be changed to house
various kinds of exhibitions and events such as the network for artistic
research (GfKFB), initiated by Mari Brellochs in 2007 or “Product and
Vision” (Brellochs and Schrat, 2005).
The enterprise is managed by a group of artists and researchers who
consider the organization itself and its development to be the artwork.
The organization runs in deliberate opposition to the laws that govern
charitable, non-profit art firms in Germany. Whereas these laws require
such firms to maintain a significant difference between the firm’s board
and its members, at flutgraben e.v. the members and the board are
approximately the same people. As Brellochs puts it, ‘as a gesture of
stopping the mandate and delegation and institution [the old German art
institution developed in the 19th century], no one controls it’ (personal
communication). In response to the hierarchically determined laws which
are meant to foster democratic management practices, the organizational
board instituted “the end of democracy”, whereby everyone has to elect
him/herself onto the flutgraben board. All art-researchers who join the
board take part with their specialized focus, approach, and experiences,
applying these to the running of the organization. The board also decided
to convert each of the rented studios into a potential “room of parrots”,
both to force a reconsideration of the received 19th-century notion of
studios, and to turn them into forums for artistic research and “chang-
ing rooms”. The term “room of parrots” is an artistic quotation of the

Vatican’s “Camera Papagalli”, a changing room where the Pope’s vest-

ments are put on and taken off, and which houses a parrot (Setton, 1978:
471). This organizational motif is based on an artistic research theme
developed by Joël Verwimp, and constitutes both a physical work place
as well as a central topic in the overall flutgraben research subject matter.
The general flutgraben subject is developed by its tutors, dealing with a
non-profit institutional structure including its location, history, partners,
organizational potential, and visions. Relative to this, the Vatican parrot
room is associated with ‘fixed paintings on the wall in a space for repre-
sentation, decoration, and political and religious rituals and standards, as
well as the political use and function of spaces from Pope Leo X, the big
Medici art agent’ (Brellochs, personal communication). Thus, working in
a flutgraben parrot room not only implies putting on and taking off one’s
“clothes” in relation to one’s publics, but doing this in relation to the flut-
graben’s other anti-hierarchical organizational structures. Such initiatives
are part and parcel of the organizational mindset there, and point to how
entrepreneurial artistry might happen in more ongoing ways. They also
suggest ways in which organizations, entrepreneurial and otherwise, might
be arranged so as to stay fresh rather than just resilient.
SOME IMPLICATIONS
Together these examples raise a number of questions, some more research-

able than others. One is around the relationship of entrepreneurial artistry
to other entrepreneurial modalities; specifically, how might the non-linear,
meaning-centered perspectives of the arts work with the more linear and
rational processes that the entrepreneur must employ? Does artistry
mostly belong in the “break in case of emergency” domain, as the VISA
case suggests, or, as with the flutgraben e.v. case, is it something that
could/should preface non-crisis times, say for example when formulating a
financial plan? Another question is about minding the art/Art. Which art
and when? And how? I have seen as well as taught a number of business
courses where the fine arts have been brought in to illustrate and contest
business issues; for example, Shakespeare on leadership, rendering prob-
lems in music, and using the film “12 Angry Men” to study control dynam-
ics. And I’m aware that thousands of other teachers are doing the same.
Yet it remains unclear to me what the long-term effects of such mind-
ings are. To understand this properly means conducting some longitudinal
work, looking at different kinds of mindings and their perceived impact
over the years. I am also interested in the varying ways that the imagina-
tion and imaginary (Taylor, 2004) might work in entrepreneurial efforts.

On the one hand, the imaginary can be something one seeks in the way
that artists seek imaginative solutions, but it can also be how we imagine
something is when presented with exotic, weak, or distant information.
With this comes a sense-giving question (Gioia and Chittipeddi, 1991) –
how might the entrepreneur best give his or her imaginings to others? In
what ways can the entrepreneur help his or her stakeholders imagine pos-
sible new ventures in ways that keep those possibilities fluid and adaptive?
Concomitantly, what is the role of “finished” and “rough”, where finished
means ideas that are worked out in detail and rough those that are still
open. In his discussion of the VISA example, Weick (2004) suggests that
rough is better, yet it is also evident that venture capitalists and business
professors call for highly detailed plans, the more detailed, the better.
To conclude, let me return to the opening question about how we might
relate art and entrepreneurship, and the follow-on questions about artistic
entrepreneurship and whether such a thing is desirable. Clearly the two
domains can be related, but as I’ve suggested, we need to keep domain
differences in mind. I think we would be poorly served by isomorphizing
the two. Further, I hope I have made a reasonably convincing case for why
we should start qualifying the term “art”, especially as we apply it to fields
outside the fine arts. Given how different the art-as-craft notion is from
art within the fine arts and how sophisticated and nuanced contemporary
notions of art have become, I believe that making careful distinctions
around the term is essential if we are to have a hope of developing stronger
arts-based theories and practices in business and leaving the airport ver-
sions of the art of entrepreneurship to the airports and the 50,000 footers.
NOTE
1. The art–Art framework can get quite confusing, especially if it is applied to all instances
of “art” – artistic, artful, artistry, and so on. Consequently I have restricted my use of the
convention to just the two words, art and Art.
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9. Emerging themes and new research
openings
In this summary chapter, we explore a number of salient themes and

issues that have emerged throughout the various chapters of the book.
We especially emphasize how the study of art and artistic processes raises
new and relatively unexplored questions in the domain of entrepreneur-
ship research, and how art and its processes provide a particularly suitable
empirical arena for finding parts of the answers. In the concluding sections
of the chapter, we also use insights from the individual chapters as a start-
ing point for discussing policy on the art arena. We then finally turn the
tables to offer some concluding thoughts on what practicing artists may
learn from accumulated knowledge and insights in the domain of entre-
preneurship research.
OPPORTUNITY RECOGNITION AND

DEVELOPMENT
Until recently the entrepreneurship literature has frequently portrayed the

processes of opportunity recognition and development as fairly instru-
mental, mechanistic, and linear (for example Herron and Sapienza, 1992;
Ardichvili, Cardozo and Ray, 2003). Often, the sources of new business
opportunities have been associated with exogenous events that open up
for new technological and business developments (for example Peterson
and Berger, 1971; Shane and Eckhardt, 2003; Sine and David, 2003), and
the entrepreneur’s alert and more or less conscious search for new busi-
ness ideas (Kirzner, 1979, 1985, 1997). New business opportunities have
traditionally been seen as more or less understood by the individual entre-
preneur, who then has to contend with uncertainty and adaptation in the
development and commercialization phases.
From the perspective of the artist, and as documented by several
chapters of this book, at times the discovery of new ideas is much more a
process of coming to grips with what the idea is in the first place, and the
169

process that follows puts emphasis on how to communicate and make this
emerging idea understood by others as well. It is a process that does not
seem dependent upon immediate cues from the environment, but rather
involves loose coupling between a number of prior events and experiences
and the emerging artistic idea. Another way of putting this would be to
say that artistic processes emphasize and highlight endogenous sources of
new opportunities and the subjective, emerging, and open-ended elements
in opportunity recognition processes.
Opportunity Recognition
Several of the book chapters, particularly those by Scherdin and Meisiek

and Haefliger, emphasize the need for taking a closer look at how artists
and entrepreneurs act from within their own context to create novelty.
This is a process that is characterized by the individual’s deep personal
commitment into bodily experiences, and a slow and largely undefined
process of knowledge discovery and creation (cf. Nonaka, 1994; Bennett
and Hacker, 2003). It is only loosely coupled to a set of previous indi-
vidual experiences, and may indeed find its source in the “uncaused cause”
of dreaming and imagination (Shackle, 1979; Churchland, 2002; Kor et
al., 2007). In some cases, it is also a process where the ultimate ends are
unknown, and the individual is driven by an unexplained desire or even
compulsion to come to grips with an elusive idea or concept. Interestingly,
the chapter by Søndergaard provides an illustration of how the author
himself became involved in the apparently open-ended exploration of the
emerging concept of “distant relations”.
We currently know relatively little about these subjective, loosely
coupled, and open-ended processes – how they proceed, how they are
shaped by the individual’s interaction with the environment, and how they
are connected to rates of failure or success. While the suspicion is that
similar types of processes occur also within the business context, we do not
know how frequently they are encountered there and what may set them
apart from more traditional opportunity recognition and development
processes. It is for example known that the idea of establishing a company
quite often precedes the discovery of a business opportunity (Gartner and
Carter, 2003; Gartner, Carter and Hills, 2003; Hills and Singh, 2004),
which to some degree parallels the idea of an undefined “itch” that sets
some artistic processes in motion. It may further be speculated that highly
subjective, loosely coupled, and open-ended opportunity recognition
processes are particularly associated with competence-destroying innova-
tions (Aldrich and Martinez, 2003), and therefore deserve closer attention
and scrutiny in the entrepreneurship literature. The broader but hitherto

Emerging themes and new research openings 171
unexplored issue is how different opportunity recognition processes corre-

late with degrees of novelty or types of entrepreneurial concepts, and how
they affect the pace of development and probabilities of ultimate success
in the marketplace.
Of course, it is somewhat tenuous to equate creative and artistic pro-
cesses with the concept of opportunity recognition. Most artists would
probably find it difficult to accept the notion that their work ever involves
the recognition of an opportunity as such, perhaps reflecting the tradition-
ally perceived absence of strong profit motives among artists. On the other
hand, descriptions of opportunities in the general sense would include the
words “to” [achieve something] and “by” [engaging in certain activities
and linking events], which apply to artistic and business initiatives alike.
The concept of alertness is also broad enough to encompass openness to
unexpected developments, and moulding the unexpected into the predict-
able has been a central issue in the Kirznerian approach to opportunity
recognition (Kirzner, 1985, 1997). Finally, profit motives have been found
to be secondary motives for entrepreneurs to become engaged in new busi-
ness ventures (Amit et al., 2000; Carter et al., 2003), and it has been sug-
gested that opportunity recognition or discovery may be a phenomenon
which to a significant degree has been “invented” by entrepreneurship
scholars (Gartner and Carter, 2003). In sum, there is perhaps less of a dif-
ference between the work of the artist and that of the entrepreneur than
may be suspected at first glance.
This does not mean that all forms of opportunity recognition are of the
emerging and open-ended nature (Sarasvathy et al., 2003). As observed
in the Frankelius chapter, the specific cultural entrepreneur’s search for a
site for a new opera arena was conscious and with a clear aim, culminating
in the seemingly instantaneous insight: ‘As soon as I saw it I knew: this
is the place for the international opera festival place I had for quite some
time been looking for.’ The further development of the opera arena also
remained close to the originally conceived concept: ‘After having made up
my mind to turn Draggängarna into the festival arena Dalhalla, I never
thought of the difficulties that might occur, and when they did I managed
to keep my “goal” in sight and found new ways to continue.’
The main point is that despite recent advancements and broadening
of the opportunity recognition concept in the entrepreneurship literature
(for example Sarasvathy, 2001; Sarasvathy et al., 2003; Gartner, Carter
and Hills, 2003; Alvarez and Barney, 2007; McMullen, Plummer and Acs,
2007; Vaghely and Julien, 2010; Short et al., 2010), our current taxonomies
for opportunity recognition processes seem far from exhausted, leaving
the nature of opportunity recognition open for substantial future work
and contributions. Further empirical work in the context of art should be

particularly suitable for documenting subjectively based, loosely coupled,

and open-ended opportunity recognition processes, and the intuition is
that even among artists there will be considerable variation around this
central theme. The particular cognitive characteristics and skills of artists,
as illustrated in the Barry chapter, may add further detail to this discus-
sion. Taxonomical work along these lines may simultaneously uncover
processes that can be taught among art and perhaps even entrepreneurship
students as practice-based methods. Paradoxically, however, until now
art research seems to have eschewed the issue, perhaps because creative
processes are seen as something self-evident and taken for granted among
members of the art community.
Opportunity Development
Storytelling, framing, and reframing Another salient issue discussed in

several chapters of this book is opportunity development, in particular
the process of framing and legitimizing new art and artistic expressions.
It stands relatively clear that individuals involved in art and artistic pro-
cesses perform major feats in these respects, because as pointed out in the
chapter by Bonnafous-Boucher, Cuir and Partouche artists can rarely, if
ever, rely upon proof of the utility of novel ideas and concepts. Unlike
entrepreneurs in the business context, they cannot demonstrate how new
products and services can lower the customer’s cost or increase revenues,
and much of their success instead rests upon the ability to use other “bare-
bone” means and strategies for communicating the aesthetic and other
qualities of new ideas and concepts.
For some time the entrepreneurship literature has recognized the impor-
tance of storytelling and framing in the process of gaining acceptance and
support for new business ventures (for example Fiol, 1994; Lounsbury
and Glynn, 2001). Work in the context of already established compa-
nies and organizations has addressed the importance of issue-selling and
framing (Howell and Higgins, 1990; Dutton and Ashford, 1993; Dutton et
al., 2001), and exploratory studies have taken a first cut at framing strategies
in the context of corporate entrepreneurship (Czernich and Zander, 2010).
Recent work on start-ups has documented how written narratives employed
by founders of new ventures affect the ability to acquire external resources
(Martens, Jennings and Jennings, 2007), or how market actions of new firms
are connected to media-based reputation (Rindova, Petkova and Kotha,
2007). Compared to other areas of entrepreneurship research, however,
empirical evidence on the framing of new ventures is relatively limited.
In the context of storytelling and framing, art and artistic processes
stand out because of the relative absence of technological breakthroughs,

economic successes, or competitive moves around which stories and

framing tactics can be built. Instead, emphasis is placed on the pro-
cesses by which artists manage to change perceptions and create identities
around new work with very limited means at their disposal, primarily the
spoken word and exhibitions and displays of more or less finalized work.
As displayed by the historical development of art and art movements, and
effectively illustrated in the chapter by Lindqvist in this volume, it can be
an issue of creating legitimacy around concepts that challenge existing
norms and broader societal expectations. While all of this takes place in
a context that generally emphasizes novelty, in reality new art ideas and
initiatives often face severe resistance among certain groups of external
evaluators.
Overall, art and artistic processes represent an arena that seems par-
ticularly suited for the empirical study of legitimacy and reality-building
processes (Bjerke, 2007), often under extreme conditions. Ambitious
empirical studies of storytelling and framing may involve a mix of quali-
tative methods, including autoethnographic accounts (see further below)
and shadowing (McDonald, 2005; Czarniawska, 2007) to examine the
entire chain from subjectively perceived idea to ultimate success and
acceptance by external audiences. Specific issues to be addressed include
how artists employ different forms (the spoken word, written materials)
and channels (exhibitions, media) for selling their new concepts to exter-
nal audiences, and ultimately how storytelling and framing strategies are
connected to the successful or unsuccessful launching of new art ideas.
Related issues concern the importance of various forms of symbolic action
(Zott and Huy, 2007), or the conceptual and practical differences between
framing and reframing efforts (Meisiek and Haefliger, and Frankelius,
this volume), again against a background of comparatively few available
action parameters. Apart from generating new knowledge in what seems
to be a largely neglected area of art research, the insights gained could
prove of practical relevance for practicing artists, where at least tradition-
ally the creative process has remained taken for granted and strategies for
selling new art ideas purposely have been left unexplored.
Co-creation As documented in the chapters by Lindqvist, Meisiek and

Haefliger, and Barry, some artists engage communities of artists and exter-
nal stakeholders in the creative process, a counterpoint to situations where
the artist works independently and categorically refuses to guide audiences
in their interpretation and evaluation of finalized work. Co-creation that
involves artist communities and external stakeholders is a multi-layered
process, where the first layer consists of a closer group of individuals
working on the development of a specific artistic idea. A second layer is

made up of multiple stakeholders in the wider environment, who may have

different views and demands on the emerging idea and project.
The employment of communities of artists and external stakeholders
in creative work draws attention to largely unexplored approaches to the
introduction of novelty among business entrepreneurs. Specifically, while
some business entrepreneurs may be struggling with imposing their opin-
ions and world views on prospective suppliers and customers (Zander,
2007), others may apply a more inquisitive, open-ended, and co-productive
approach. Co-production in the entrepreneurship context would be similar
to that identified in the marketing literature (for example Wikström, 1995;
Gibbert, Leibold and Probst, 2002), but in contrast to interaction between
established organizations or within existing supplier–buyer relationships
concerns the development of products and services represented by new,
fledgling ventures. It is a co-operative process in which the entrepreneur
discovers and develops a new concept through interaction with and some-
times unexpected input from others (Schoonhoven and Romanelli, 2001a).
It also extends beyond mere adaptation to customer demands to the cus-
tomer’s identification with the emerging product or service and voluntary
efforts to contribute to its development and survival, thereby fulfilling a
sensemaking and legitimizing function (Fletcher, 2006; Dimov, 2007).
Although to date the concept of co-creation has received limited explicit
attention in the entrepreneurship literature, it indeed seems to have prec-
edents among entrepreneurial ventures, sometimes occurring accidentally
and sometimes purposefully. For example, parts of furniture retailer
IKEA’s business concept apparently crystallized when because of per-
sonnel shortages customers were asked to find their products themselves
in the warehouses, and it has been suggested that during later stages the
company’s concept and brand have been reinforced by sustained pro-
cesses of co-creation (Andersson, 2009). Many life-style companies seem
to have evolved in a similar co-creative way, involving committed efforts
by customers and external stakeholders to actively contribute not only
to the development of products and services, but also to the survival and
success of the new venture. Yet, little is still known about how these proc-
esses of co-creation differ from those traditionally explored and portrayed
in the entrepreneurship literature, and how they may be connected to
either success or failure of new business ventures.
Ultimately, the concept of co-creation raises the issue of team oppor-
tunity recognition and development processes, which remain to become
systematically addressed in the entrepreneurship literature. The lone and
stubborn entrepreneur, fighting against all odds, does indeed exist, and
associated stories about heroic achievements undoubtedly serve as impor-
tant inspiration for current and future entrepreneurs. The dynamics of

group creativity, converging or diverging paths of opportunity recognition

and development among team members, and the effects of openness to
serendipity and co-creation within a wider group of external stakeholders
nevertheless appear to be issues that deserve more exposure in both the aca-
demic and practitioner-based literatures (cf. Schoonhoven and Romanelli,
2001b; Jack and Anderson, 2002; Gaddefors and Cronsell, 2008).
Hijacking When artistic and entrepreneurial processes are collective and

open-ended efforts, there is a pronounced risk of “hijacking” of the new
ideas and concepts among current collaborators or external individuals.
The risk of hijacking is effectively illustrated by the case described in the
Frankelius chapter, where the originator and main champion of the new
concept was ultimately ousted from the project. Casual interviews with
company founders and corporate entrepreneurs suggest that hijacking is
a serious threat in many entrepreneurial efforts, and many entrepreneurs
would testify that inviting venture capitalists has had negative effects on
their ability to control their business ventures. Yet, there is very little sys-
tematic evidence about this probably quite common phenomenon, which
differs from more generally recognized processes of imitation in that
others take control over an already ongoing initiative or business venture.
Under which conditions are firm founders and product champions more
likely to lose control over their ventures? What are the drivers of conflicts
that may cause some entrepreneurial team members to leave the new
venture, either voluntarily or involuntarily? Which forms of conflict can
be resolved and which cannot, and how is conflict resolution achieved?
These are very real and important issues among artists and business entre-
preneurs alike, and they seem to deserve more conceptual and empirical
attention in both literatures.
SELECTION OF NOVEL IDEAS AND CONCEPTS
Several of the book chapters, in particular that by Frankelius, illustrate

how on the art arena selection pressure operates through differentiated
selection environments. In this respect, they highlight a perhaps surpris-
ingly little explored aspect of ecological models that deal with the issues
of variation, selection, and retention. Indeed, other examples from the art
arena have documented the multitude of selecting agents and their differ-
ent selection logics (Wijnberg and Gemser, 2000; Scherdin, 2007), includ-
ing educational institutions, museums, curators, funding agencies, media,
and in some cases business corporations.
In the context of art, selection is about the processes by which new art

or artistic expressions are evaluated with regard to their aesthetic or other

qualities. It occurs when people become aware of the artist’s efforts to
produce and display a new piece of art or artistic expression, and make
their assessments of its suitability for either acclaim and support or criti-
cism and rejection. Support may take the form of explicit endorsement
or allocation of time and resources to the new initiative (including for
example the supply of financial funds, exhibition spaces or materials
and equipment, or the ultimate purchase of art objects). Rejection is the
opposite of that, and the outcome of the selection process becomes known
when new art or artistic expressions are either successful or unsuccessful in
pursuit of general recognition and acceptance.
To survive and grow, any new ideas, concepts, and organizations must
gain cognitive and sociopolitical legitimacy (Aldrich and Fiol, 1994;
Aldrich and Martinez, 2003), which in turn involves meeting the demands
from various external stakeholders. But many still unexplored issues sur-
round these stakeholders and their various logics or ways of evaluating
novelty, whether in art or business. What is the full set of selectors in dif-
ferent contexts, and which are the different selection logics levied upon
the new ideas or concepts? Does it matter whether the severity of selection
pressures is “spiky” or “flat” across selecting agents? How do champions
of novel ideas and concepts navigate the selection environment, both in
terms of efforts to mitigate individual selection pressures and the timing
by which they are addressed? Are these pathways in any ways connected
to the success and survival of the novel initiatives? Closer examination
of these issues across empirical settings promises to fill a conceptual void
throughout the art and entrepreneurship literatures, with important impli-
cations for practitioners of both domains.
METHODOLOGICAL OPENINGS
Work on this book did not involve any explicit ambition to explore and
develop methodological approaches in the fields of art and entrepreneur-
ship. Nevertheless, the paper by Scherdin illustrates how the application
of autoethnographic methods may uncover detailed aspects of phenomena
that would otherwise be very difficult to capture.
Autoethnographic methods are phenomenologically inspired approaches
with an emphasis on documenting how individuals experience, make sense
of and enact things and events in everyday life. But as opposed to phenom-
enological methodology where despite immersion in the object under study
the researcher remains separate from it (Berglund, 2007; also Brundin,
2007), autoethnography in a direct way documents the researcher’s lived

impressions and interactions with the environment in his or her own

words. It results in subjectively perceived and “unedited” accounts, which
are analysed by the researcher him or herself or can be used and analysed
as narratives by others from a range of conceptual and theoretical angles.
It is perhaps surprising that autoethnography has not been more com-
monly applied in the field of entrepreneurship research, considering the
substantial number of researchers with experiences from start-ups and
direct involvement in various entrepreneurial ventures. Even retrospective
studies of these processes would be able to bring out particularly salient
issues, events, and causal relationships that would otherwise go unnoticed
(for example Johannisson, 2005; Scherdin, 2007). Autoethnography may
be a particularly useful methodological approach among ex-practitioners
entering academe, who may find that grounded approaches that start
in experience rather than conceptual and theoretical frameworks best
capture the full scope and detail of their entrepreneurial undertakings.
Casual observations and encounters with ex-practitioners indeed suggest
that in many cases they see established theories and frameworks as “strait-
jackets” that do not fit with their personal prior experiences and search for
knowledge about particular phenomena. Instead of taking a start in exist-
ing theory and, as is often the case, applying traditional qualitative data
collection methods, the autoethnographic approach would allow for the
capturing of often complex and holistic phenomena in real business life. It
also promises to maximize the extraction of tacit knowledge accumulated
throughout sometimes extensive entrepreneurial careers.
Of course, the use of autoethnographic approaches is curtailed by the pre-
dominantly positivistic and quantitative bent of entrepreneurship research
(Kyrö and Kansikas, 2004). This notwithstanding, it represents a methodo-
logical opening to the study of complex and otherwise elusive phenomena
in the fields of art and entrepreneurship alike. More than perhaps any other
method, it promises to capture the emotions involved in the launching of
new ventures, which despite recent advancements have remained an under-
developed area of entrepreneurship research (Baron, 2008). Other phe-
nomena that immediately come to mind include the unfolding of artistic
processes and opportunity recognition, with a particular emphasis on how
initially subjectively and vaguely perceived ideas ultimately become shared
and taken for granted among larger groups of people.
POLICY IMPLICATIONS
As art occupies center stage in this book, we take the opportunity to use
some of the ideas brought forward in the various chapters for opening a

discussion on policy implications. In doing this, we emphasize the opening

part, because it is clear that art and cultural arenas in different countries
have different structures and levels of funding (Katz, 1985). Specifically,
the state has taken on a leading role in the funding of art and cultural
activities in many European countries, whereas the private sector plays
a dominant role in the United States. Also, there is no general answer to
what policies on the art arena should aim at, because opinions may differ
substantially across its practicing members, organizations, and public
institutions.
If policy on the art arena is to be effective and perceived as relevant, it is
imperative that policy makers remain in touch with “what it is like being
an artist” (cf. Nagel, 1974). As illustrated in the chapters by Scherdin and
Meisiek and Haefliger, many artists draw their inspiration and creativity
“from within”, and the associated creative processes are only to a limited
extent predictable or manageable by means of externally applied levers.
One of the most important implications of this, which may be difficult to
accept, is that it can be very difficult to evaluate the quality or value of new
art ex ante. New art ideas (actually very much like new business ventures)
cannot be assigned numbers in terms of cost reductions, revenue increases,
or prospective benefits to society. As explained by Meisiek and Haefliger
in this volume, the value of new art ideas is determined by processes of
valuation and devaluation, the drivers and ultimate outcomes of which are
still only imperfectly understood.
Despite this unpredictability in the emergence and development of new
art ideas, policy in the context of art is concerned with identifying and
achieving the desired balance between old and established art expres-
sions and those initiatives that promise to rejuvenate or replace existing
forms. In view of this, the ecological perspective applied in the Frankelius
chapter provides a promising but in many respects neglected toolbox for
art policy. Generally speaking, the ecological perspective highlights the
initial need to specify ambitions along three dimensions – the rate at which
new art ideas should emerge, the scope of new art ideas (across a broad or
narrow range of artistic expressions), as well as the type of new art ideas
(incremental advancements or revolutionary breaks with the established;
see the discussion of art and Art in the Barry chapter). Obviously, whether
provided by the state, private individuals, or corporations, the size of
available funds is of importance for determining the general level of activ-
ity in arts and culture and the rate at which new art ideas are allowed to
emerge and become tested out in various audiences. Yet, the size of funds
does not in itself determine the scope and type of new ideas or the balance
between already established and novel art initiatives.
The scope and type of new art ideas are determined by the structure of

the selection system that operates on any specific art arena (to simplify,
we may think of art arenas as national arenas, although there is certainly
room for elaborations around the geographical boundaries). Without a
more detailed analysis and understanding of how the selection system
works, policy making may not necessarily result in the intended outcomes.
For example, some art arenas may be highly productive in terms of gen-
erating a large number of diverse new art initiatives, but for a number of
reasons be severely constrained by selection mechanisms that in the end
favour a narrow set of already generally accepted and recognized con-
cepts. As indicated in the chapter by Meisiek and Haefliger, narrowing
the number of selecting agents also means narrowing the scope for the
identification of novelty, as opinions about what is valued and unvalued
may differ substantially across groups of individuals. Unless both varia-
tion and selection are considered in decisions that concern renewal on the
art arena, efforts to enhance dynamism may thus prove futile or of very
limited overall effect.
Consider the case of path-breaking art as discussed in the chapter by
Bonnafous-Boucher, Cuir and Partouche. Path-breaking art is defined in
relation to tradition and by the extent to which a challenge to conventional
perceptions is established, and in the extreme appearance its blueprint can
be described as oppositional, adversarial, and antagonistic (Chin, 1985). It
cannot become routinized or institutionalized in terms of how new ideas
develop into established art forms, because then it will lose its relevance
as a concept. Another particular feature of path-breaking art is that
associated artists and promoters by definition are almost perfectly inert;
if revolutionizing initiatives were responsive and adapted to demands or
environmental pressures, their challenging and sometimes antagonistic
nature would be lost. Indeed, there are examples of what would qualify
as avant-garde groups of artists that actively refute activities that would
make the initiative more legitimate and similar to already existing art
expressions, even in the face of poor funding prospects (Scherdin, 2007).
It would seem that the existence of path-breaking ideas on the art arena
remains critically dependent on the amount of funding that is available,
but in a wider ecological perspective there is more to the issue than that.
Specifically, if formal directives to various funding agencies are to promote
art of particular national traditions (possibly in response to increasing
calls for the identification of internationally competitive clusters of indus-
trial and other forms of activity), it cannot be expected that path-breaking
initiatives will proliferate. Similarly, if individual selectors in funding
agencies have their roots in traditional art, perhaps with limited under-
standing of “what it is like to be a path-breaking artist”, there is likely to
remain a bias against the novel and unknown. And although the merging

of existing funding agencies into a few central organizations would pre-

sumably increase efficiency in the funding of art, allowing more money to
circulate in the system, it would probably also increase the probability that
a set of uniform selection criteria emerged. This typically speaks against
variability in terms of the ultimate scope and type of funding decisions.
These would be only a few examples of considerations that are intro-
duced once the interplay between variation and selection on the art arena
is explicitly taken into account, extending the policy toolbox beyond
single-minded (but still important) discussions about the absolute amount
of available funding. Many practitioners, observers, and evaluators on the
art arena are undoubtedly intuitively aware of the more intricate interplay
between variation and selection pressures, but more explicit application of
concepts from ecological models can provide structure to the analysis and
ultimate policy measures. More ambitious approaches to the evaluation
of ongoing activities in arts and culture would include the examination of
the entire system of selecting agencies, from art schools to galleries and
media, but this extended discussion is beyond the scope of this concluding
chapter. The main point is the increased number of refined policy meas-
ures available to achieve the desired output of the art arena, with par-
ticular emphasis on the nuanced dimensions and ways in which selection
mechanisms influence the scope and type of new art initiatives.
The Globalization of Art
The chapter by Søndergaard, which critically explores the concept of

culturally and geographically separated art arenas, provides an interest-
ing perspective on the policy discussion. Just as the world of business has
become globalized over the past few decades, the world of art also appears
to be in the process of transforming itself. Alongside potentially stream-
lining and standardizing pressures introduced by internationalizing art
galleries and museums, global art projects that in many respects resemble
the “born globals” of the international business scene (for example Oviatt
and McDougall, 1994; Knight and Cavusgil, 2004) open up for unique
and unexpected variation and developments in art. Yet, in many countries
existing funding and selection systems seem little prepared to effectively
handle these new initiatives; arguably, funding is for the locally confined
and adapted, and projects that draw on a multitude of international
influences can easily be regarded as too deviant from the established and
familiar.
It is very likely that art policies will rapidly need to accommodate the
increasing geographical mobility of artists and the ideas they draw upon in
their work, as well as the formation of international communities of artists

that produce work which may not fit comfortably with the locally familiar
and culturally valued (as noted by Søndergaard in his chapter, global art
projects may even be ‘beyond the formal and conceptual levels of aesthetic
avant-garde’). Yet, while the components and effects of globalization have
been extensively dealt with in the business literature, to our knowledge
there have been few if any focused studies on the globalization of the art
arena and its potential effects on art ideas and established art policies.
We strongly sense that the globalization of art and its consequences for
various actors on the art arena should become a central theme of research
over the years to come.
IMPLICATIONS FOR PRACTICING ARTISTS
The title of this book, Art Entrepreneurship, comes with the notion that
artistic processes, as distinctive as they may be, are part of a larger family
of entrepreneurial ventures and processes. That larger family includes the
perception and development of new business ventures, and as heretical
as any comparisons may seem to the practicing artist, there is something
to be learnt from how business entrepreneurs struggle to make headway
with new ventures among often reluctant investors and customers. While
the chapter by Barry penetrates the question what the entrepreneurship
literature and entrepreneurs can learn from art and artists, in this conclud-
ing section we would like to offer some reflection on what practicing artists
can learn from the world of business entrepreneurs.
For artists, especially those who are just about to start their careers, the
main message would be to realize the importance of interaction with exter-
nal stakeholders and how ultimate recognition and acceptance of espe-
cially radically new ideas depend on how well the new art idea is “sold” to
these stakeholders. While from the individual’s point of view the artistic
process is concerned with creativity and the creation of novelty, the road
to public recognition and acceptance involves careful and skilful framing
and reframing of the emerging art idea and selling the novel idea to a range
of external evaluators. The picture is complicated further by the fact that
these evaluators represent a multitude of different selection logics, and
that persuasion, in contrast to the case of new business ventures, cannot
rely upon the identification of customer needs or supposedly objective
parameters such as cost reductions or revenue increases.
Arguably, while much of the education for becoming an artist right-
fully focuses on creativity and the mastering of technical skills, there is too
little emphasis on how to persuade often incredulous observers about the
meaning and value of new art ideas, or, if you so wish, on strategizing and

the business aspects of art. The difficulties involved in establishing new art
ideas and movements are well known to most if not all professional artists,
but often discovered the hard way and rarely reflected upon or taught in
any systematic way. As we still need to examine storytelling and framing
processes in more detail and also need to systematically investigate the
effects of various framing approaches on the survival of new art ideas,
building increased awareness is the key task at this point. More frequent
interaction with both successful and still struggling artists, and conscious
reflection about their strategies for the framing of their new art ideas and
interaction with others, is a useful starting point. Perhaps, as indicated
by the Frankelius chapter, it may also prove worthwhile to consider what
marketing theory has to say about effective techniques for “making the
sale”.
The case could perhaps also be made for developing knowledge about
the broader aspects of running commercially oriented businesses, as sug-
gested in the chapter by Bonnafous-Boucher, Cuir and Partouche. The
intuition would be that the globalization of the art arena will bring about
an increasing variety of funding solutions (current pan-European initia-
tives supportive of collaborative projects in the fields of art and culture
come to mind, as do new art initiatives that involve a mix of public and
private sources of funding). Such increasing variety would favour the use
of the internationally recognized, legitimate, and regulated organizational
solution represented by the business firm. To the extent this assumption
proves correct, artists may find it useful or even necessary to take a step
closer towards the traditionally shunned world of business.
CONCLUDING REFLECTIONS
Working on this book has been an exploratory undertaking with an unpre-

dictable end result. Apart from the many new insights into the world of art
we have gained, two of the main and lasting impressions are how the study
of creative and artistic processes can open up and contribute to the devel-
opment of new areas in entrepreneurship research, and the fruitfulness of
grafting an entrepreneurship perspective onto art research. The particular
and in many ways extreme conditions of the art arena come with methodo-
logical advantages that help highlight a number of issues and processes of
general interest to entrepreneurship researchers. To paraphrase Shane and
Venkataraman (2000: 218), we also feel there are substantial opportunities
for art research to systematically address how, by whom, and with what
effects new art ideas are discovered, evaluated, and ultimately recognized
and accepted by the general public. Some of these issues and processes

have been explored and outlined in the various contributions to this book,
and much more is to be discovered by research yet to come.
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Index
action without preconditions 47 Barrientos, R.M. 36, 39
age dimension 133 Baxter, I. 38, 39
Ahnborg, Erik 108 Bennett, R. 56, 57
AIDA (Attention, Interest, Desire and Beuys, Joseph 43
Action) 132 Bhide, A. 160
Albert the Great 24 Binnewies, C. 24, 47
Ani-human 149 Bird in Space 27–9
Aristophanes 122 Birenbaum, C. 156
art BMW 42
and Art 157–9 Bottle Rack (Marcel Duchamp) 26
characteristics 3–4 brain
comparison with entrepreneurship cogitative powers 55, 56–8, 73
10–17, 154–6 cognitive powers 55, 56, 73
and consumers 15 subjectivity 54–5
in global culture 142–52, 180–81 Brancusi, Constantin 27–9
and novelty 79–80 Brandt sur Haffner 29
as a profession 155 Brellochs, M. 165, 166
role in society 11 Brin, S. 165
and utilitarian function 25–31 Brunon, Bernard 40–42
Art of Entrepreneurship 156 buildings, painting 40–42
art scandals 10–12 business artists 35–6, 38–43
artist entrepreneurship 157–67 business entrepreneurs and novelty
artists creation 78–9
business artists 38–43
critical artists 43–4 capitalism, global 150
divine talent 13–14 Christiansen, Bjørnstjerne 42
and firms 35–46 Churchland, P. 55
lessons from entrepreneurship co-creation 173–5
181–2 co-production 174
motivations 16, 154–5 cogitative powers of the brain 55,
Artmind 160–63 56–8, 73
artmind 160–61, 163–4 cognitive powers of the brain 55, 56,
Attention, Interest, Desire and Action 73
(AIDA) 132 combinations, novel 87–8
Austin, R. 94, 163 productive 34
authenticity 89 use of iterative processes 94
autoethnography 58–9, 176–7 community involvement 90–92, 93–4
study of creative process 59–72 conflicts in innovative processes 133–5
consumer interaction 15
Baronet, T. 31 context, entrepreneurial see
Barriaud, N. 147 environment
187

control, entrepreneurs’ loss of 134, distant relations 142–52

175 divine talent 13–14
creation 24–5 Duchamp, Marcel 26, 40, 89–90, 129
and entrepreneurs 31–5
and usefulness 25–31, 33–5, 47–8 economic creation and artistic creation
creative destruction 12, 33–4, 40, 84, 31–3
154 Einstein, A. 85
creativity 23–4 Eliasson, Gunnar 101
definition 24, 47 Engels, Pieter 40
Crick, F. 57 entrepreneurial artistry 160–66
critical artists 43–5 entrepreneurial context see
Csikszentmihalyi, M. 92 environment
cultural dimensions and creation of entrepreneurial subversion 33–5
variation 132–3 entrepreneurs
culture, global see Global Culture as creators 31–5
Czernich, C. 127 divine talent 13–14
individual capabilities 52
D’Angour, A. 122 losing control of ventures 134, 175
Dalhalla opera arena 99, 100–137 motivation 16, 155
diversification 115–16 similarities with artists 16, 31–3
environmental factors 125–6 entrepreneurship
finance 106–7, 108, 113–14, 119–20 as an art 156–60
framing 130–33 comparison with art 10–17, 154–6
impact on region 114 and consumers 15
inauguration 109 definition 2–3
as innovative 122–3, 125 employing an artmind 160–64
institutionalisation 111–14 and novelty 78–9, 93–4
management conflicts 116–18 role in society 11
opportunity recognition 104–5, 171 as subject of art 157
project origination 104–9 environment 125–6
staging of Ring of the Nibelungs and creation of variation 132–3
110–11 and selection 100, 136–7
study methods 100–104 Ernman, Malena 120
Damasio, A.R. 74 Es war ja nicht alles schlecht 148–9
Danto, A. 26 etoy 80–84, 87–8, 90–91
Darwin, Charles 124 evolutionary theory and innovation
Davies, S. 157–9, 162 124–5
Dell Computer 155
Dellefors, Margareta 102, 104–19, Fenger, Jakob 42
127–9, 129–30, 131, 132–3, 134–5 Feyzdjou, Chohreh 39
art manager of Dalhalla 111 finance, Dalhalla project 106–7, 108,
founding Dalhalla 104–9 113–14, 119–20
removal as artistic director 116–18 flutgraben e.v. 165–6
Democritos 122 Ford, Henry 34
Denkmal 148 Forest, F. 143–4
destructive nature of entrepreneurs Fountain (Duchamp) 89–90
34–5 Frame Analysis 127
see also creative destruction framing 126–33, 137, 172–3
Devin, L. 94, 163 free action as uncaused cause 31–3
Dissanayake, E. 158 Freeman, J.H. 124

Index 189
Fuentes, C. 142, 147 innovation policy, technology bias

funding 123–4
Dalhalla project 106–7, 108, Inshallah (By the Will of God) 148
113–14, 119–20 instrumentalist artists 36
and path-breaking art 179–80 International Klein Blue (IKB) 39, 41
internationality 150
gender dimension and value creation interpretation of artwork 86–7
133 iterative evaluation of combinations
Getzels, J.W. 92 94
Gibbons, M. 103
Gibson, William 84 Kaikai Kiki Co. Ltd 39
GINA Light Visionary Model (BMW) kainotomia 122
42 Kant, E. 24–5
global capitalism 150 Kirzner, I.M. 56, 171
Global Culture 142–3 Klein, Yves 39, 41
networks 144–5 knowledge production Mode 2 103
role of artists 143–4, 147 Koons, Jeff 36
stages 150–51
Global Media 146 Larsen, Nikolaj Bendix Skyum 145,
globalization of art 142–52 146, 148, 152
policy implications 180–81 Laurette Bank Unlimited 39
Goffman, E. 127 Lavier, Bertrand 29–30
Gombrich, E.H. 88 lawsuits and art 10
Google 165 Brancusi trial 27–9
Groys, B. 88 Letters of non-motivation 43–5
Gustafsson, Magnus (Nug) 10, 18 linear emergence of novelty 85–6
Linnaeus, Carl 104
Hacker, P.M.S. 56, 57
Hannan, M.T. 124 Manovich, L. 150–51
Harvard Business School cases, artist’s markets
analysis 161–3 defining entrepreneurship 15
Hegel, G.W.F. 85 global 150
hijacking of ideas 175 means-ends relationships 52–3
Hill, Christine 39 media, and technology bias in
Hjorth, D. 155 innovation policy 123–4
Hock, Dee 163–4 media art, storage 81
Huitorel, J.-M. 38, 39, 40 Metro newspaper 12
migrating art 145–7
If you look back 148 minding the art 160–61
IKB (International Klein Blue) 39, 41 Minerva Cuevas (M.V.C.) 39
IKEA 174 MISSION ETERNITY 81–5, 87–8,
Imagination and the Nature of Choice 90–91
32 motivation 16, 32
industrial objects as art 26, 29–30 artists 16, 154–5
Ingold Airlines 39 entrepreneurs 16, 32, 155
innovation Murukami, Takashi 39
and art 11–12 Mystic Truths 148
contributing factors 135
definitions 98, 121–2, 123 Naumann, Bruce 148
and entrepreneurship 13 Nelson, R. 125

network of distant relations 144–5 professional structure of art 155

Nielsen, Rasmus 42 public, role in defining
non-linear emergence of novelty 86 entrepreneurship 15
norm and rule-breaking 10, 11–12
novelty 12, 78–80 re-interpretation, help of community
in the arts 79–80 93–4
and authenticity 89 reframing 127–30, 131, 137, 172–3
business entrepreneurs 78–9 renewal 87–90
as characteristic of modern art 25 rewards 134–5
emergence of 84–90, 170 Rex, Jytte 148
novel combinations 87–90 Rosenberg, H. 25
Nug (Magnus Gustafsson) 10, 18 Rouillé, A. 36
Rowell, M. 29
Obama, B. 123 rule-breaking 10, 11–12
objective opportunities 51–2, 72–3
Obliterated Landscape 148 Said, E. 150
Odell, Anna 10, 17–18 SARCOPHAGUS 82–4
Ohly, S. 24, 47 scandals in art 10–12
Oil and Wasser 161–3 Schrat, Henrik 157, 161–3
opportunity development 169–70, Schumpeter, J. 12, 13, 32, 33–4, 56, 84,
172–5 85, 123, 125, 154
opportunity recognition 51–4, 169–72 science
autoethnographic study 59–72 as distant relation 149
conceptual framework 54–8 role in Global Culture 151, 152
Dalhalla 104–5, 171 Seidler, Marika 145, 146, 149, 151
individual capabilities 52 selection 124–6, 136–7, 175–6
opportunity revelation 50–74 environmental factors 100, 136–7
organization innovation 13 and variation 99–100, 124–5
Ouest-Lumière 40 voluntaristic 127
Outsourcing 157 Serres, M. 149, 151
Shackle, G.L.S. 32
Page, L. 165 Shane, S. 52–3, 56, 72, 182
painting of buildings 40–42 Skyum-Larsen, Nikolaj Bendix 145,
Paleologue, A. 29 146, 148, 152
palingenesia 122 social acceptance and innovation
Partouche, M. 26 124
path-breaking art, policy implications society
179 role of art and entrepreneurship 11
persuasion 131 role of technology 151
physical framing 132 sociological art 143–4
policy implications 177–81 Sonnentag, S. 24, 47
Porter, M.E. 125 Steyaert, C. 155
practicality as purpose of storing media art 81
entrepreneurship 155 storytelling 172–3
Prévieux, Julien 43–5 strength-weakness analysis 130
problem-finding 92 Strömberg, Lisa 145, 146, 148–9, 152
process innovation 13 Strong, E.K. 132
process perspective on framing 130–32 subconscious processes 74
product innovation 13 subjectivity 54–5
productive combinations 34 and opportunity recognition 73

Index 191
subversion, entrepreneurial 33–5 Udall, John 121

Superflex 42–3 uncaused cause 31–3
Supergas 42–3 urinal (Duchamp) 89–90
surgical marketing 131 utilitarian function and creation 25–31
Tamagotchi 159 variation 125

technology and society 151 effect of cultural dimension 132–3
technology bias in innovation policy and selection 99–100, 124–5
123–4 Venkataraman, S. 52–3, 56, 72, 182
That’s Painting Productions 41 Vilks, Lars 10, 18
Times Review of Industry & Technology VISA International 163–4
122 visionary thinking 13–14
Toma, Yann 40 voluntaristic selection 127
Top Business Consultants 156
tourism, impact of Dalhalla project Wahlström, B. 134
114 Weick, K.E. 89, 163–4
traversals 144–5 Western Culture and distant relations
True Artist Helps the World by 142–3
Revealing Mystic Truths Wiener, L. 26
148 Winter, S.G. 125
turning points in innovative processes
133–5 Zander, I. 127


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Art Entrepreneurship

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

Edward Elgar Publishing, Inc.

A catalogue record for this book

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010930115

ISBN 978 1 84844 369 3

Typeset by Servis Filmsetting Ltd, Stockport, Cheshire

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1 Art entrepreneurship: an introduction 1

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the Chair of Research in creation and creativity at Advancia-Negocia. Her

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Creative Business Management. In 2006, he was elected a member of the

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(European Academy of Management) Award for Innovative Scholarship.

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Danish Museum of Contemporary Art (Museet for Samtidskunst), and

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Mikael Scherdin and Ivo Zander

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ADAGP for the illustration of Marcel Duchamp’s “The Bottle Rack”

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In many ways, the creation of art captures the essence of entrepreneurial

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exploring the boundaries of the evolving domain of entrepreneurship

ART AND ENTREPRENEURSHIP – SOME GENERAL

The term entrepreneurship is most commonly associated with the discov-

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undertaking something in the face of genuine uncertainty (Knight, 1921;

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INDIVIDUAL CHAPTERS AND CONTRIBUTIONS

The individual chapters of the present volume represent a first attempt

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an important complement to more traditionally perceived opportunity

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Contemporary artists may resent being characterized as entrepreneurs, even

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ART AND ENTREPRENEURSHIP IN SOCIETY

NORM AND RULE BREAKING

The establishment of aesthetic judgement as an autonomous domain

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is perceived differently as time passes – criticized works become redefined

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PRODUCT AND PROCESS INNOVATION

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DEVELOPMENTS WITHIN ENTREPRENEURSHIP

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Artist and the artwork was recognized as a direct or indirect influence

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From the discussion conducted in this chapter, it can be concluded that

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