Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Regimented Art.


Last week I took my mom to the Neue Galerie by 86th st and 5th ave. The Neue Galerie, founded by Serge Sabarsky, businessman/philanthropist and Ronald S. Lauder, art collector (from the Estee Lauder family), is devoted to early 20th century German and Austrian art and design (taken directly from their website - www.neuegalerie.org). Some of my favorite works and artists were there including, Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Vasily Kandinsky, Franz Marc, and even Degas, Picasso and some elusive Brancusi sculptures make appearances. Needless to say, we were both extremely excited to visit this museum.

It was a blustery, wintry day and we were expecting to be swiftly admitted (we were there by 11am on a Friday). However, when we approached there was already a queue of about ten people or so standing in the cold. The security guard was letting people in two by two, very diligently at that. Absolutely no liquids are allowed inside, including water, which is stricter than most museum/gallery policy. My mom even claimed she had Diabetes and needed the water... alas, it was to no avail. The stringent and strict museum policies allow for ABSOLUTELY NO LIQUIDS OF ANY SORT to be allowed in. I was surprised I didn't have to check my mini bottle of hand sanitizer at the door. My mom asked to leave the unopened bottle of (insert name brand) water at the front door. The security guard barely consented but warned her that it may be gone when she came out. We both thought, "Why would anyone throw out an unopened bottle of __________ water?"

Well, policy got even tighter as we walked through the museum. If you decide not to check your coat and/or scarf/hat/gloves etc, you must wear them for your entire visit at the museum. Apparently there have been "incidents" in which coats have destroyed priceless works of art? Or perhaps a scarf got out of hand and strangled a sculpture to death? And one must watch out for those gloves which run rampant down the halls tripping people so that they fall on top of priceless objects....

Out of principle, I refused to check my coat, gloves, and scarf, and walked through the overly heated museum sweating as much as I would have as doing Bikram yoga in a sauna.

Additionally, there was a woman who operated the elevator helping you get to either the second or third floor.  With all of those buttons, surely people panic from confusion...

The actual museum was formerly a mansion. The marble staircase inviting people upstairs to the wood paneled rooms, created a warm and cozy feeling. Truly, the building is beautiful and very well-maintained, perhaps due to the fact that children 12-16 must be accompanied by an adult, while children under 12 are not admitted at all. That'll teach those havoc wreaking, art loving kids to stay back...

There are about two guards in each (small) room, heightening the feeling of anxiety and "Big Brotherness." However, the collection is worth the overbearing security regime. Sabarsky and Lauder did a fantastic job of securing a phenomenal assortment of Austrian and German works, at all costs, really. Klimt's Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, completed in 1907, was bought by Ron Lauder for $135 million in June 2006. The Vienna Secessionist, Klimt created this 138 x 138 cm gold and oil on canvas in an overtly decorative style. The delicacy of the woman is juxtaposed with the lavish and almost gaudy background creating a swirl of gilded fantasy.



Clearly, this purchase was a newsworthy event that intrigued the public, which could be seen by the crowd of people who surrounded this painting as though they had never seen a more beautiful work of art. Jaws dropped, heads tilted, and a glazed look came over those who gazed at this painting. While I am a fan of Klimt, this certainly is not my favorite work of his. In fact, Klimt's "The Dancer," which is also at the Galerie, is a more striking image.
However, there was nobody surrounding this painting... how driven the public is by over-consumption... Well, I was able to "consume" this painting in a fulfilling way as there was no one breathing on me or looming over me.

Another one of my favorites came from Schiele, with his ugly-sexy and highly eroticized "Self Portrait with a Twisting Arm" (1910).
Something about this really turns me on... and I have no idea why... nor do I care...

After ending in a room filled with medieval armor (apparently one of Lauder's collecting fascinations), we wanted to try Cafe Sabarsky, which is meant to be designed in a traditional Viennese Cafe fashion. There was a queue leading to the cafe, of which the hostess told us it would be a 30 minute wait and we could try the "German" style cafe, Fledermaus, downstairs. The lesser known, yet equally well designed cafe downstairs also had the same menu. Yet for some reason we determined to eat at Cafe Sabarsky. After a 10 minute wait, we were seated. That's a hostess who sure knows time estimation! We were seated at a tiny table by the fireplace, which was unlit. After we sat and placed our order, we noticed a beautiful window table become vacant. My mom asked a waiter if we could switch seats, and the waiter went to ask the hostess. The hostess came back asking if we had already ordered, which we replied "Yes." She then said, "Well, that makes things more complicated. The waiter won't know where to serve the food." Mind you, the table by the window was probably five feet (literally) from where we were currently seated. "Please ask the waiter," my mom said, "I have hip problems (fabricated) and need to sit in a cushioned seat." The waiter came to our table and said it was fine to switch almost laughing to himself that we wouldn't be able to due to all the "confusion" that would ensue...

The new table was much to our liking as there was light that shone in and we had a beautiful view of Central Park. The food was also to our liking. The Bratwurst mit Sauerkraut & Rösterdäpfel was delicious. The roasted sausage skin was crackling and crisp whilst the inside was juicy and succulent. The riesling sauerkraut was the perfect blend of sweet from the wine that cut the acidity of the kraut. The dijon mustard to dip the sausage in was pungent yet worked well with the sausage. We also ordered a pretzel that came with a delicious Bavarian honey mustard. Again the sweet and savory combination was perfect. I was less enthused with the hot chocolate, that actually came with a water chaser due to its intensity. The dark chocolate was not very distinct in flavor and seemed watered down. The whipped cream floating atop was the best part. Not to be missed are the desserts, so of course we indulged. The Sachertorte, or dark chocolate cake with apricot confiture, was rich and decadent. We couldn't finish the small piece due to its intensity. I certainly would eat at Cafe Sabarsky again.

The experience at the Neue Galerie was overall quite positive, despite the fact that the unopened bottle of water was thrown out upon our leaving. Also, the excessive rules and regulation made me feel even more uncomfortable in the German/Austrian museum. I got the strange sensation that someone was going to pop out screaming "Achtung!" if I accidentally breathed irregularly. They run a tight ship there is an understatement. Mussolini, himself, couldn't have held it down tighter. Looking at the German artwork and feeling this sense of oppression was chilling to say the least. However, to view some of the most amazing German Expressionist and Austrian artists, I'll deal with the bureaucracy.

Monday, December 19, 2011

The Emperor's New Clothes

Once upon a time... there lived a miscreant who called himself the (scam) "artist." He would use chicanery to seduce snobs and elitists to purchase his "art." Some of his "art" would look like enlarged balloon animals ... or perhaps a massive jewel bauble ... or even a heart-shaped ornament ready for a giant-sized Christmas tree of 100 ft or more. What they all have in common is that they are bright, shiny, and highly commercialized objects.




This "artist" was clearly not creative enough to have come up with the idea of duping highfalutin art enthusiasts into appreciating and purchasing a "concept" rather than actual artwork. The story comes from Hans Christian Anderson's "The Emperor's New Clothes." Here is the summary of the plot according to Wikipedia:
An Emperor who cares for nothing but his appearance and attire hires two tailors who promise him the finest suit of clothes from a fabric invisible to anyone who is unfit for his position or “just hopelessly stupid”. The Emperor cannot see the cloth himself, but pretends that he can for fear of appearing unfit for his position; his ministers do the same. When the swindlers report that the suit is finished, they mime dressing him and the Emperor then marches in procession before his subjects, who play along with the pretense. Suddenly, a child in the crowd, too young to understand the desirability of keeping up the pretense, blurts out that the Emperor is wearing nothing at all and the cry is taken up by others. The Emperor cringes, suspecting the assertion is true, but holds himself up proudly and continues the procession.


Living in an art world that has become heavily commercialized, I find that pretense has the potential to run rampant among some of those who live in it. Those who think that Jeff Koons is a "visionary" by making a killing on nothing other than "pretty" objects, heavily underscores the pretense.

While I can respect Mr. Koons for attempting to "beat" the system and pulling the wool over the eyes of spectators, collectors, and art historians alike, there is still the idea that some are being left with egg on their faces.

At a "Contemporary Art Post 1970" lecture at the MoMA with a very scholarly art historian, the group was shown Koons' basketballs floating in a tank of water. Great time was spent on explaining this work and finally one of the visitors asked the lecturer, "What are your thoughts on Jeff Koons?" After a few moments of thought, the lecturer responded, "Well, I am fascinated by Koons. He knows how to work the system and has almost beat it. His work is not my favorite, but he certainly knows how to confuse and baffle, while intriguing the art world. For this reason I love him."

While I respect her answer, because honestly that's how I probably would have answered, there is still a big question in my mind. When did the artist's showmanship abilities come to be valued more than the actual artwork? J.A.M. Whistler was also a great showman, but his work was meaningful and filled with a transcendental presence. Koons' work has me grounded so deeply in a superficial reality that it makes my head spin.

Are patrons who buy his work walking around naked... or rather are they dressed  in sartorial elegance?

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Hell is Repetition.


All Work And No Play Makes Jack A Dull Boy. 
If you haven't seen "The Shining," a quick back story to the footage is Jack, aka Jack Nicholson, becomes the    winter caretaker of a hotel that is haunted by supernatural spirits. He brings his wife and little son along for the bumpy, and spooky ride. Jack thinks the isolation will be great for his completion of the book he has had great difficulty with writing. Jack goes a little mad and writes the same words "All Work And No Play Makes Jack A Dull Boy" for seemingly hundreds of pages. Repetition is not only hell but the definition of insanity in many instances. 

The very motion of life, let alone art, is to evolve, progress, react, and adapt. When art is repeated ad nauseam, the world gets smaller and duller. 

Smaller, duller, and dottier. Literally speaking. For most this is probably a pretty recognizable piece from Damien Hirst. Reason it's recognizable? Because Hirst created 1,400 of these 'spot' paintings, which represents 29% of his total output of 4,800 pieces. Hirst feels that he still has some more of the old 'spot' in him as he compares his meager output to Warhol's 10,000 or Picasso's 40,000 works of art. Difference among the three artists, is that the latter two had different images... Dots are dots are dots are...well, dots... 

Yes, I understand that placing 1 1/2 millimeter dots on a seven foot canvas does take quite a bit of time, but is the return on investment worth it at this point? The dots have been done. Yet, Hirst realizes that his spot paintings will always be valued as a commodity.

 “You learn by doing, really. If I put a painting outside a bar at closing time, and it’s still there in the morning, it’s a crap painting. With spot paintings, wherever you leave them, people are going to take them out of the dumpsters. It’s an intrinsic thing that has nothing to do with how many you make.”

Well, indeed Hirst is still profiting off the spot paintings, but are his creative juices flowing? What's the difference between churning out repetitive paintings and going to work everyday and notarizing the same kinds of documents as a government drone? Here we have an art drone, at best --driven by commercialism and less about artistic development. 

If Hirst is not painting dots, he's doing 'spin' paintings, which by the way, I had a 'spin' machine as a kid and could turn out a fierce painting... too bad I missed that bandwagon. 
Or Hirst is placing animals in formaldehyde. 

This allegedly sold for $12 million to hedge fund guru Steve Cohen on the condition that Hirst would not create anymore stuffed sharks. Well, Hirst reneged on that. What can he do, the man loves to copy his own art! And poor Mr. Cohen is sitting with his stuffed shark thinking it's a one-of-a-kind, $12 million work of art... until the next 1,400 are reproduced... 

This leads me to the question... is there some serious pulling the wool over the eyes are what? Does cloning your own artwork make an artist or strategic businessmen? Or both? 



Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Droid Fashion: Is Additive Manufacturing Adding to Fashion?

3-Dimensional printing or "additive manufacturing" made its big debut at Euromold, a manufacturing trade fair in Frankfurt from November 29-December 2. Not just clothing is made from this method, but artificial legs and even aircraft door-hinges. A lot of the designs from 3D printing have an organic feeling, which is probably because in most cases the designers have deliberately copied nature. Because this is such a revolutionary process, the human psyche feels more comfortable looking at objects that appear natural.

London architect Daniel Widrig, designer Iris van Herpen, and digital manufacturers .MGX by Materialise collaborated to create a collection of digitally printed clothing, Escapism in 2010. The level of symmetry and intricate design truly makes the clothing in this collection an absolute work of art. However, because of the high level of construction and the impeccable execution, it undoubtedly looks like the work of a machine rather than human hands.

While the dress is beautiful, there still appears to be something artificial about it, despite its 'organic' roots. 
Crystallization, 2010
Crystallization, 2010 (back view)

It is a clear association for androids to be involved with the tech and science fields, yet droids are invading the art/fashion world! Calling Will Smith in "I, Robot" to defend the aesthetic sector, please. (Weird that this is my second Will Smith mention in the span of just 5 blogs... hmm... subconscious, what's going on?!)


Can robots do it better than humans when it comes to art and fashion? Will the next great artist look like this?
(Note to reader: This is already an established robot artist in China with a fan following)

I went into this field, besides having a passion for art, thinking that the "human" touch was what made it highly valued and personal. But could the cold, industrial hands of a robot be what drives this field in the future? 

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Decadence: Just How Much Should We Indulge?

I adore wearing gems, but not because they are mine. You can't possess radiance, you can only admire it. ~ Elizabeth Taylor 

This post is in honor of the Elizabeth Taylor Legendary Jewels Evening Sale at Christie's tonight. Ms Taylor was a woman who understood indulgence and took part in it with pride and absolutely no apologies. She was married 8 times and was given the most incredible jewelry with each missed match.






Diamonds were more of Elizabeth's best friend than Marilyn's as can be seen by her exquisite 33.19 carat diamond ring mounted in platinum. The estimate is between $2,500,000-$3,500,000, but I'm expecting some withered up socialite to snatch it up in order to wear it around her cold, clammy, liver-spotted finger, perhaps having delusions of actually being Ms Taylor (a la Bette Davis in"What Ever Happened to Baby Jane"), for at least double the the high estimate.
Waiting for a spot on this hand... 

Onto another indulgence... 
Last night, I was flipping through stations and landed on a chocolate special TV show... (Aside: Perhaps scroll down enough so that the hand is out of view for this next part). The first portion of the show featured Karl Lagerfeld, who usually is not the first person that comes to mind when I think of chocolate. Yet the fashion designer was given 10 tons of chocolate to design a chocolate hotel room complete with a life-size chocolate model consuming a Magnum ice cream bar. Chanel designer Lagerfeld designed the hotel room in a deal with Magnum, the ice-cream company, not the condom... Though on second thought, both companies would have worked with this particular chocolate hotel room design... The male model on the bed seductively lying with his crotch in the air open for display, is Baptiste Giabiconi, Lagerfeld's most favorite model (how 3rd grade of him) and new boy-toy, I mean muse... This yummy hotel room is completely edible from the chair, to the carpet, to the bed spread, to Baptiste's fingers, and um, other appendages. I'd love to be in a room like that, but I would wind up homeless... 
And for a slightly, well, much creepier photo of the dynamic duo


I'll conclude with an Oscar Wilde quote "America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between." While Wilde certainly spoke in extremes, though witty ones at that. Whether we agree this is an accurate or false statement, it certainly seems more relevant today with the copious amounts of expensive jewelry and semi-under-age boy-toys sporting little skivvies in a room literally made of chocolate ... oh what a world we live in... 

And in true Elizabeth Taylor fashion the auction is 11 minutes late... Well, if you can't be on time at least have a good mantra... "Big girls need big diamonds." ~ Well, amen, Ms. Taylor, amen...  


Monday, December 12, 2011

Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?



In 1996, Paula Cole came out with the song "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?" I was barely ten years old, so the words were pretty meaningless, but I liked the beat and how she whispered the lyrics at times. Little did I realize the absolute significance of that song. . . For those of you who are not familiar with the song, Ms Cole laments the life she has being married to a chauvinistic man, where she has to pay the bills and tend to the children. She once had heroic aspirations for a life with a "cowboy," who actually turned out to be a blue-collar nobody who neglected her. She wonders where chivalry is... and the man of her dreams...

This leads me to my point... it seems the idea of a "cowboy" or rather a masculine and chivalrous man is becoming more and more of a mirage in the proverbial desert.  The last time I saw a cowboy was in the film "Brokeback Mountain," in which the childhood fantasy of a rugged cowboy who wrangles cattle and sweeps a damsel in distress off her feet, was swiftly shattered... An effeminate Jake Gyllenhaal replaced the insanely testosterone-filled John Wayne and left girls across the nation fraught with intrigue and disappointment. (Enjoy the funny and apropos image!)


Of course there are guys out there who take pride in their (sense of) masculinity... and I'm not denying that. However, I am asserting that there has been a noticeable shift in how men behave and appear and how society responds to this in a favorable manner. A few "then and nows" just for fun: Elvis Presley vs. Justin Bieber -- both of them were teen idols. The Jackson 5 vs. The Jonas Brothers.  The below video makes me laugh and feel frightened all at the same time... Thank you Bieber for channeling your big-boy voice to do an impersonation of the King, which I know hurt your prepubescent vocal chords.

Another popular trend that leads to less "masculine" men (obviously) is androgyny. When men try and look like women, their attitudes shift as well. I must admit that there is something strangely intriguing, and sometimes seductive, regarding the androgynous look, but once I hear the high-pitched girly voice and the extremely off-putting overtly feminine mannerisms, the sexy switch goes off. The point of androgyny is to be in the middle aka ambiguous and dabble between both sexes ... not completely off to one end of the opposite gender spectrum serving camp and drag-queen humor. David Bowie was "androgynous" wearing makeup, tight clothes, long hair, and yet he was a man! His voice wouldn't lilt up as though he were in a constant state of euphoria. He could be taken seriously as a meaningful artist because the look was merely an accentuation, not a character determinant.

In fashion, androgyny recently has been a hot buzz word. Model, David Chiang, made his debut a few years ago as a "beautiful boy." Now in 2011, almost 2012, we have "the prettiest boy in the world," as Andrej Pejic.
Once again, I'll admit I was originally fascinated by "Mr." Pejic. But upon listening to his interviews and him clearly trying to feminize his persona, I lost interest. His tweets including "I've just got my period today!" are not something I care to read... but over 13,900 of his Twitter followers are. Again, what does that say about our society? Is there a certain amount of masculine degeneracy with this new shift? Can a guy be a guy, even if he chooses to look a bit girly? Or does long hair and eyeliner serve as the Great Castration? I'm sure rock stars would disagree, but really, has their even been a relatively recent rock star who would strap on the skinny jeans, paint his face, and still be considered a dude? Mick Jagger, Axl Rose...?

One final image to digest... though I admit everyone from the "then" column was in the army, and probably from the same Life magazine edition... Yet the "'men' now" is not even as extreme as it could be...

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Subversive & Vulgar vs. Edgy & Exciting --> The Battle of Taste

I woke up with a nagging feeling of when exactly art transitions from being edgy and exciting to subversive and vulgar. When is that exact moment when the spectator's comfort level shuts off and renders the viewer feeling repulsed rather than intrigued. The first person that crosses my mind in regards to pushing one's limits is John Waters, American film director and art collector. I sat through a lecture given by Mr. Waters about six years ago and listened to him defend his films. When the crowd gave him every possible grievance for being "smutty, perverse, and disturbing," he replied that not only is that what makes his films "art" but what makes them memorable. He said art is about pushing one's limits to the extreme. Just how much can you handle without feeling as though you have to take your eyeballs out and rinse them with soap and water? Granted, people look at the film "Pink Flamingos" as being sleazy and revolting, yet masterful and revolutionary because ti took film making to a place it had never been before. A new genre was created. However, should an overweight drag queen consuming _______ (leave it to your imagination if you haven't seen the movie -- probably better off that way) constitute as art? Where do we draw the line in the sand? 


Last year, Michael Hussar's "Daddy's Girl" was presented at Art Basel Miami. Hussar is known for his more violent and visceral images. Blood, gore, and sharp pointy objects can be found in nearly all of his paintings. Hussar's work is also categorized as "Surreal" but I beg to differ with that categorization. In my humblest of humble opinions, Surrealism offers an almost magical and whimsical escape from reality. There can be overtures of doom and gloom, as is prevalent in some of Dali's and Redon's work, yet the overall message is that of levity and escapism. Hussar's work has me so grounded in the present, that I'm bound to my chair by a ball and chain, weighted down by the intensity and gravity of the scene. Not only is this counter to Surrealism, but the feeling rendered is uneasiness to say the least. 


Back to "Daddy's Girl." Not only does the title denote a feeling of an over-sexed Lolita, but the actual image confirms it! A horned (phallic symbol) overtly feminine creature with a droplet blood on her chest (perhaps alluding to cum), strategically placed above what appears to be a giant red aureole protruding from her corset, is gratuitously sucking on a long red lollipop (second phallic symbol), alluding to a BJ. Not that I have a problem with sexuality in art, but this is a bit over the top. There is nothing left to the imagination and nowhere is there a psychological resonance other than overt profanity. What is the point of this work? It is not jarring because it is too obvious. So the hope for mental arousal is as dead as her corpse-like skin. 

At least Hussar left this Lolita "Daddy's Girl" as a figure of imagination. This year, Dan Colen, once again in my humble opinion, went off the deep end with a deeply and profoundly vulgar and insidious film poster of "The Pursuit of Happiness" manipulated so that Will Smith's son was performing an unspeakable act on his father. This sold for $150,000. WTF?! The proceeds went to a charity that builds schools in Haiti, but seriously, talk about dirty $$. What is the point of this piece of work? (Clearly not a work of art). It not only is too obvious, but it's merely a mockery of how people vandalize and desecrate public posters and advertisements. I look at this and feel disgust. Once again, no psychological resonance, because it is way too obvious and just appears hungry. Hungry for what though? What did Will Smith ever do to deserve this, other than 'Gettin' Jiggy With It?' And the poor little boy with words above his head saying "Lick My Balls." Ugh. 
 For those who know me, I do like the controversial and strange things that life has to offer. "A Clockwork Orange" is my favorite film and I appreciate thoughtful and psychological art. Yet there has to be a clear conceptual idea with a sense of intelligence attached to it. I can appreciate Patricia Piccinini's work and I can even dig Andres Serrano, but perhaps it's because these works don't push me over the edge enough. Have I lost my absolute openness to become more sensitive? 

Thoughts on this would be much appreciated! Help me regain my sense of equilibrium before I slip back into the world of Impressionism! 

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

PMS... Post Miami Stress.

Just got back from the ever amazing Miami Art Basel. Besides hobnobbing with the rich and famous/wannabes, partying until the sun comes up with rap stars I've never even heard of, and lounging at either the Delano or Standard hotel with flutes upon flutes of champagne, visiting the art fairs still stole the show. Only during Art Basel does the whole city breathe art and consume everyone with aesthetic intrigue if not bubbles of champagne.


Escaping frigid and rainy New York to a sunshiny and *gasp* 70F Miami was phenomenal to say the least. Chucking the winter coats behind and emerging from a cocoon of layers, the mini skirts and strappy stiletto heels made their premier debut... in full force. Miami is beautiful in that you can wear nightwear during the day without people thinking you're a total tramp. Not that I would ever dress in a vulgar fashion... though I did see women wearing maybe an inch of fabric.


 Yet the true beauty was to be found at Pulse, Scope, Fountain, to name a few... No, these are not the names of clubs or underground rave parties, but rather a few of the fairs that Miami had to offer. Fountain, perhaps one of my favorites, was the most 'underground' of all the fairs. Seldom was a work of art selling for more than $5,000, yet the creativity and energy was unprecedented. One artist made shrines (see below) of various knickknacks that reminded me of Santeria and other cult symbols. Yet the Biggie 'shrine' was the most comical/intriguing shrinking the larger than life character into toy-size.   
One of my other absolute favorites came from Pulse, which was a more shi shi fair, including the works of David LaChapelle, Moby (yes the DJ), and other highfalutin artists. I had my first aesthetic arrest in Miami gazing upon the work of Oleg Dou. Fawn, 2009, under his 'Cub' series. Not only has Dou managed to capture an ethereal/surrealistic image, but he photographed a child without absolutely no life and no soul. Channeling Children of the Corn, shall we say? This photograph is daunting, psychologically unnerving, stunning, yet strangely intriguing. 
 Actually the biggest let-down of Basel was the Convention Center, where the main fair was housed. Not only did I feel like I was going through a corn maze looking at bad imitations of Rothko and facing an exorbitant amount of Fernando Botero (and why is he resurfacing?) but I felt like art was being treated purely as a commodity while the common folk poo-pooed that which they didn't understand. A  man with an indiscernible Southern accent (perhaps from Tennessee) marched up to a non-interested gallery worker asking the price of a Maurizio Catellan mobile installation. She replied, "$550,000," in a totally nonplussed manner. "Well, that certainly isn't in the old wallet projection, now is it?" the Southern man in a fanny-pack twanged back. She slightly lifted her lip as to demonstrate she understood the humor but did not appreciate it. 


That brings me to this point. WHY THE HELL DON'T THE PEOPLE SELLING ART KNOW  ANYTHING ABOUT THE ART OR AT LEAST PRETEND TO FEIGN INTEREST? Case in point: I saw a photograph that had "c-print" written on its description. I asked the person working at the stall "What does c-print mean?" Her response was, "Ummm... hmmm... not sure... let me Google it." Really, Google?! Also, not knowing who Odilon Redon is and you're selling a Surrealist painting of a giant eyeball balloon, which was an idea clearly taken from Redon, is blasphemous. Get me to that Biggie shrine because I need pray for these unintelligible gallery waiters/waitresses who are serving art that they can't understand. Read the menu of the day and ask the chef what are the main ingredients, because honey if people are spending 6 figures on a work of art, they best know what they're about to be digesting. 


However, since this is my first blog post, I shall end on a high note, even though I'm writing from what could potentially be a tsunami in New York due to the massive rainfall. Some of the highlights of the trip included the popup galleries in hotel rooms. Cruising in and out of the rooms in the dodgy Catalina and Aqua hotels had a sexy, naughty feeling, yet refined and tasteful at the same time. The art was bad but the ambiance was fun, and the free tequila tastings helped. Also, visiting the massive studio of Mr. Brainwash (see below his version of Michael Jackson) and his insane graffiti/street art meets furniture design and politically incorrect paintings was wonderful. I love his wit and humor using social satire as his medium. Smart artists who conceptually know what they're doing are what the art industry SHOULD be all about. 
The hotel scene was fun for a hot second, but the Basel Overthrow Party featuring Pharell, Yelawolf, and Penguin Prison was the best for the party scene. Finally, nothing beats throwing a white scarf around your head, putting on the over-sized shades, and riding with the top down in a white Jaguar. Yup, that's me on the right ;]
Until the next time my artaholics ... xx