第134页

Starting from pg 133:
What was the word for that liberation? Apocalypse? Utopia? I felt a fullness indistinguishable from being emptied as I held a work from which the exchange value had been extracted, an object that was otherwise unchanged. It was as if I could register in my hands a subtle but momentous transfer of weight: the twenty-one grams of the market's soul had fled; it was no longer a commodity fetish; it was art before or after capital. Not the shattered or slashed works to which Alena Thrilled, but those objects in the archive that both were and weren't different moved me: they had been redeemed, both in the sense that the fetish has been converted back into cash, the claim paid out, but also in the messianic sense of being saved from something, saved for something. An art commodity that had been exorcised (and survived the exorcism) of the fetishism of the market was to me a utopian readymade -- an object fro or from a future where there was some other regime of value than the tyranny of price.