An Artwork, a Banana, or an Expensive Joke?

Jess Castellote

When World War I broke out, many European artists moved to the United States, and New York gradually began to challenge Paris as the centre of the art world. One of these artists was Marcel Duchamp, a young Frenchman who pushed the boundaries of what people considered “art.” He started experimenting with everyday objects, labelling them, and presenting them provocatively as artworks in exhibitions. In 1917, Duchamp created what is now regarded as one of the most significant works of 20th-century art. He submitted a piece titled Fountain to the Society of Independent Artists in New York—an ordinary porcelain urinal signed “R. Mutt.” The exhibition jury was baffled. Could something as mundane as a public restroom fixture be displayed as art? Could a mass-produced object even qualify as an artwork? They thought not and rejected it. But Fountain gained notoriety over time, and Duchamp became a key precursor of conceptual art. Many critics now consider Fountain one of the most important artworks of the 20th century, as it shifted the focus of art from craftsmanship to ideas.

Fast-forward more than a century to 2019, when Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan made headlines with an artwork consisting of a ripe banana duct-taped to a wall. Titled Comedian, the piece debuted at Art Basel Miami Beach at the Perrotin Gallery booth. Two editions of the work sold for $120,000 each; a third went for $150,000. The public reaction was a mix of shock and outrage. How could an artist tape a banana to a wall, call it art, and sell it for such an absurd amount? The piece ignited a global debate on the meaning, nature, and value of art. Many dismissed it as a prank, a gimmick, or a marketing stunt. When a performance artist walked up to the piece, peeled the banana, and ate it, the gallery simply replaced it. Why? Because the artwork was never really the banana—it was the certificate of authenticity that came with a set of detailed instructions on how to display it. The banana and the tape could be replaced indefinitely.

In the following years, the work continued attracting attention and being resold. In November last year, at a Sotheby’s auction in New York it was sold at a hammer price of 5.2 million USD, which after adding the fees and buyer’s premium came up to more than 6 million USD. We could say that the “artworld had gone bananas!!”. Was it a joke or it was for real that somebody was ready to pay such huge amount for a banana that could be bought at the supermarket for a few cents? Again, the question was raised: Is this really art? Whatever it is, Comedian probed, as Fountain had done 100 years earlier, that some artworks can generate discussion, provoke thought and question notions of what art is. 

The controversy didn’t end there. In November 2024, at a Sotheby’s auction in New York, Comedian was resold for a staggering $5.2 million—over $6 million after fees. The art world had, quite literally, gone bananas. Was it a joke? How could someone be willing to pay millions for a banana he could buy at the supermarket for a few cents? The same question resurfaced: Is this really art? Regardless of how one answers, Comedian—like Fountain a century earlier—showed that art can be not just about aesthetics or skill. They can also serve as vehicles to provoke thought and to challenge perceptions. So what makes something art? Is it the artist’s craftsmanship? The beauty of the object? Or is it simply the artist’s declaration that something is art?

Some artworks earn recognition because they showcase extraordinary skill. Others are celebrated for their sheer beauty. But conceptual art often throws both of these traditional criteria out the window. Things are not so clear when presented with some works of conceptual art, in which there neither skill nor beauty play the most prominent role. Instead, it forces us to confront a difficult question: “Can an idea be art?” Historically, there have been three main ways to define art: first, as a demonstration of technical skill. 

Second, as an expression of beauty, and third, as something validated by the “art world”—curators, collectors, critics, and institutions. These are the technical, aesthetic, and institutional theories of art. 

Nowadays, most people look at art within the aesthetic theory of art. Art is defined by its ability to produce an aesthetic experience. According to this view, true art should evoke beauty, emotional depth, or a profound sensory experience. This is where Comedian falls flat for many people. It lacks the technical mastery of a sculpture by Enwonwu or the emotional depth of an Okeke painting, or the arresting beauty of a large bottle-top tapestry by El Anatsui. In many Nigerian cultures, including Yoruba traditions, art has historically been associated with ẹwà (beauty) and craftsmanship. The highly detailed Ife bronze heads, Nok terracotta, and intricate beadwork are appreciated precisely because they showcase skill and artistic refinement. Comedian, in contrast, is a mass-produced banana stuck to a wall with tape. I can well understand why, for many, this can’t be considered as art.

For us to consider Comedian as a work of art, we must frame it within the institutional theory of art, as presented mainly by the American philosophers Arthur Danto and George Dickie. They defended that something can be called and artwork when the “art world”, that is, the collective network of historians, artists, curators, critics, museums and art institutions, consider it so. If we accept this understanding of art, then Comedian is art because it was presented in a reputable art fair and accepted as such by serious actors in the art world.  Whether or not the piece is beautiful, skilfully made, or even permanent does not matter. What matters is the context in which it is presented and the recognition it receives. But this definition of art clashes with how most people understand the concept. In everyday language, calling something an artwork implies that it displays exceptional skill or undeniable aesthetic value.

For most of human history, and in most cultures, art was defined by technical quality, expertise, fitness for purpose and craftsmanship. This is why we use expressions like “the art of leadership,” “the art of cooking,” or “the art of diplomacy.” The word “art” itself comes from the Latin “ars”, which translates the Greek “techne”—the root of the word “technique.” In medieval Europe and traditional African societies, there was no clear distinction between artists and artisans. There were not yet “artists” in the way we currently understand this word. Painting, sculpture, and architecture were seen as practical crafts, valued for their function and technical mastery rather than personal creativity. This began to change in Europe during the Renaissance, when artists started being viewed as intellectuals rather than mere craftsmen. This transformation was reinforced by philosophical developments. Philosophers introduced aesthetics as a field of study, shifting the definition of art from technical expertise to beauty, form, and emotional impact. Art became something to be contemplated, not just used. Later, Romanticism emphasised personal expression, and by the time modernism took hold, skill was often secondary to concept, and the idea of “art for art’s sake” had taken hold. In contrast, traditional Nigerian art was never fully separated from function, spirituality, or community. Even though many objects had exceptional aesthetic qualities, carvings, masks, textiles, pottery, and architecture were created not just for aesthetic appreciation but for religious, political, and ceremonial purposes. Artists were not isolated geniuses but specialists serving their communities. It was only in the last century, under colonial influence, that African art was reframed within a Western context that emphasized form over function, and aesthetic qualities over original context of use.

So where does a banana taped to a wall fit into all this? Maurizio Cattelan’s Comedian does not exist in isolation. It belongs to a century-old tradition of conceptual art that prioritises ideas over form, challenging established notions of artistic value and aesthetics. Ultimately, I believe the true artwork isn’t the banana—it’s the idea behind it. When Justin Sun, a billionaire Chinese cryptocurrency businessman, bought Comedian for $6 million—and ate it, a few days later—he wasn’t paying for a fruit that would rot in a few days. He was buying a certificate that gave them the right to claim and install the work as an original artwork. The banana and tape are interchangeable; the concept remains. This is the essence of conceptual art and a defining feature of much of Western art over the last century. By taking an ordinary banana and displaying it in an elite art fair, Cattelan turned it into a kind of social experiment, forcing us to question our understanding of art, value, and meaning. And the fact that we are still talking about it proves its success. If I had $6million, I would certainly consider it an obscene waste to spend the money buying the work, but I can’t deny its ability to ask questions and spark debate. And in a world where critical thinking is in short supply, that’s no small achievement.

• Castellote, PhD is the Director of the Yemisi Shyllon Museum of Art, Pan-Atlantic University