R.I. man circulates bills that pay tribute to the currency of art

12:32 PM EDT on Monday, May 9, 2005

BY BRYAN ROURKE
Journal Staff Writer

PROVIDENCE

Journal photo / Bob Breidenbach

Dora Lopez, at the Arcade's Cafe La France, examines a Noney bill that her supervisor gave her permission to accept. The bills are money-size works of art that have no legal value but inspire discussions about the worth of art.

The cashier looks confused. Then she admits as much.

"What the hell is that?"

It's Noney. It rhymes with money, Alec Thibodeau tells her.

"It's what?"

The 32-year-old Providence man is standing on the other side of the counter at CVS. He has just put down a twin-pack of indelible markers ($2.19), then handed the cashier a cheerful yellow-and-violet piece of paper.

It appears to be the currency of some obscure country, depicting a happy young man named Ryan, a penguin and a cucumber.

Call it funny money. But Thibodeau's not laughing. So for a few suspenseful seconds, the cashier searches his face for telltale signs of joking.

"It's a kind of art currency," he says.

He explains. He's an artist. This is his art. Would she trade a couple markers for it?

"I can't take that," she says.

The deal dies. Thibodeau leaves. He's pleased, though.

He wasn't that interested in buying indelible ink anyway. He has other markers. Thibodeau's more interested in engaging unsuspecting people in thoughts of art, specifically placing value on it.

"Some people get it right away," Thibodeau says. "Some people react hostilely. But they are reacting. That's what art is supposed to be about."

Thibodeau makes art, not money. But he asks people to establish an exchange rate between them.

"Noney is a way to compare art to U.S. dollars," Thibodeau says.

Noney looks like money, but not American money. That's by design.

Thibodeau is a professional printer, not a counterfeiter. It's a fundamental point he'd like to impress upon officials reading this at the Federal Reserve, Secret Service and FBI.

"I want no contact with them," he says. "I don't think they would be kind to me."

Ask J.S.G. Boggs. In the last 20 years, the Pittsburgh artist has been arrested three times in three countries for creating art resembling paper currencies.

Thibodeau learned the lesson. He didn't mimic money. He created his own currency: 10 different notes, works of hand-drawn, hand-printed, hand-signed, limited-and-numbered art, all with a denomination of zero.

"It's not that they have zero value," Thibodeau says. "They have zero claim to legal value. They're not worthless. Their value is up for debate. It is the aesthetic value of the note itself."

People buy art, Thibodeau says. They also trade for it. So why, he wonders, can't art buy other things, and why can't it be conveniently carried in a wallet?

"Art appreciates over time," he says. "Currency depreciates over time. A Roman coin is not valuable because you can spend it. It's valuable because it's a historical, cultural object."

The thinking behind Noney, which is extensive -- Thibodeau is a 1994 graduate of Bowdoin College with a dual degree in philosophy and studio art -- has won converts.

"It definitely is the kind of thing the arts council promotes," says Cristina DiChiera, director of individual artists and public art programs for the R.I. State Council on the Arts. "A Rhode Island artist is pushing the bounds of the definition of art. He's taking art based in Rhode Island and spreading it worldwide."

On Noney.com, you can read stories of where Thibodeau's art currency has surfaced around the world, and what people have traded for it.

Last week, Andrea Harper of Seguin, Texas, traded $65 worth of handmade soaps for five different Noney notes.

"I value them in terms of art," Harper says. "My daughter scolded me that they're not supposed to be kept as collectibles. They're meant to be traded. But I'll cheat for sure. I'll definitely keep one or two for myself."

DiChiera, who was friends with Thibodeau before she began work at the arts council, received some Noney notes. She has saved some, and spent one.

A parking lot attendant at Providence Place accepted a Noney note from DiChiera for a $1 charge.

Journal photo / Bob Breidenbach

Alec Thibodeau of Providence has studied the history of currency and had a yen to make his mark on the world by getting people to think in the abstract and participate in the free exchange of ideas.

"Every time someone gets a Noney note, they're participating in an artistic exchange," DiChiera says. "It brings up thoughts and discussions about art, value and cultural commodities."

The notion of Noney first occurred to Thibodeau when he was low on money, of course. He was traveling the country, performing music with his younger brother Joel. This was in 1999.

"At shows, I started looking at our box of CDs and thinking, 'Those three CDs are a tank of gas,' " Thibodeau says. "It wasn't a conscious thing. I'd just look at the number of CDs we sold and think, 'OK, we can eat tomorrow.' "

In Thibodeau's mind, barter endures. Art is one kind of currency.

The concept's not new.

"Jackson Pollock paid bar tabs with paintings," Thibodeau says. "Picasso would write checks and then draw on them, knowing the drawing would prevent people from cashing the check. The doodle would be worth hundreds of dollars, and no money was ever withdrawn from his checking account."

Rather than do on-the-spot check art, Thibodeau decided to create an easily transferable art, the same size and shape as conventional paper currency.

Thibodeau conducted a contest. In 2003, he put posters around Providence inviting people to submit themselves as candidates for depiction on his Noney. Actually, Thibodeau asked people to submit a photo of themselves, and to declare their favorite bird and vegetable.

"I didn't want to have notes with the same birds or vegetables," Thibodeau says. "Broccoli was the most common, which I happen to like. Ten people chose broccoli, so unfortunately, nine of those had to be eliminated."

Thibodeau received 90 submissions. Ten were chosen and turned into bills. And if it seems strange to have them highlight vegetables and birds, it's not, Thibodeau says. Horticulture and aviary are the most common depictions on world currency -- although if you're talking about U.S. currency, then by far the most common depiction is of aging white men.

"They're definitely not lacking on the form," Thibodeau says.

In The Art of Money (Chronicle Books, 2000) by David Standish, you see all kinds of paper currency from around the world, and realize how downright boring the American version is.

"Money from around the world is extremely colorful," Thibodeau says. "The American currency is very conservative."

Only once, in 1896, did a woman (Martha Washington) appear on a U.S. bill, according to Standish. And the world's first bills were created by the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1690 as a "bill of credit" to soldiers.

Until 1727, 25 different commodities were accepted for tax payments in Massachusetts, according to Standish. And between the Revolutionary War and the Civil War, paper currencies were created by dozens of banks in various states.

"Good old-fashioned economic rivalry pushed inflation," Standish writes. "But a greater culprit was the freewheeling overissue some colonies deliriously indulged in. If paper money had been whiskey, tiny Rhode Island proved itself the most rip-roaring drunk of all."

Whenever the Ocean state needed more money, it simply made more, according to Standish. "Issue followed issue, and by 1750, the decades-long bender found . . . Rhode Island's currency was virtually worthless."

American dollars used to be larger, but were reduced in size 25 percent during the Depression to save money. And dollars used to be backed by precious metals, but that practice ended decades ago.

"The government declared it doesn't have enough precious metal to back up the currency," Thibodeau says. "Still, we use it and are told everything will be OK."

The Noney notes feature men and women, and one child. They include a waiter, a librarian, a theatrical performer, musicians and artists, including William Schaff, 32, of Warren.

Journal photo / Bob Breidenbach

A Noney bill.

"Noney really helps exemplify the idea that paper currency is basically abstract art, especially now that you can't walk in a bank and exchange it for silver," Schaff says. "You trust and accept it. You take a piece of paper with a drawing on it, a boring one at that."

Perhaps our country's most interesting note was a $5 bill created in 1896 showing a bare-chested winged woman with light shooting from her raised hand. She isn't holding a torch, but a light bulb, with a very long extension cord. Apparently the United States was pretty pleased with Thomas Edison's invention.

Thibodeau's invention was introduced at a release party in 2003. The people portrayed on the Noney notes were paid in Noney for their participation. Three hundred other people also received bills from the 10,000 batch press run (1,000 for each of the 10 different notes).

Spend them, don't save them, they were told.

Thibodeau has bought bananas in New York with Noney, and beer in Boston, which he did just last week, giving a bartender a note as a tip.

"He asked me where he could get another," Thibodeau says. "I said, 'How about another beer?' "

Generally, Thibodeau says, smaller, individually owned businesses are more receptive to Noney than big corporations. Shortly after creating Noney, Thiboeau attempted to pay his gas bill with it, appearing in person to do so.

"I got shuttled through a series of people who said, 'Ah, let me get someone else,' " he says. "Eventually I got a guy at a desk, and had a conversation about art. He said I could take my notes and sell them and come back with the money. I thought, 'Why take the extra step? Why not cut out the middle man?' He didn't buy it. I had to pull out the cash."

When asked for money by beggars, Thibodeau has given them Noney, which they apparently used. Thibodeau realized this later when one homeless person rejected his offer of Noney.

"He said, 'I tried using that stuff. It doesn't work.' "

On this particular day, in Thibodeau's hands, Noney does work. Thibodeau leaves the CVS and walks into Cafe La France. He orders a cup of espresso ($1.29). He pulls out Noney. It's deja vu all over again.

"What is that?" Dora Lopez says from behind the cash register.

An art discussion ensues. Store owner Jessica Franco steps in, and rules: fine.

"Because it's his art," she says. "I probably won't do it again, though."

You would think Thibodeau would cherish his conquest, his tiny cup of espresso, but no. He has bigger plans. He wants to promote Noney with Noney.

Into the classified ad department of The Providence Journal Thibodeau walks. He asks to buy an ad for Noney, bought with Noney.

Somehow, as the unusual request works its way up the decision-making chain of command to a senior executive, the part about paying for the ad with Noney is not conveyed.

So the offer is accepted, briefly. Then when Thibodeau's terms are completely comprehended, it's rescinded.

Thibodeau copes. However, he'd rather not have to. The tradition of posthumously priceless art isn't popular with artists.

"Art is one of those professions where you're economically better off dead," he says. "I'd like to get more immediate value from my art."