Damien Hirst’s “End of an Era”
Damien Hirst is one of those rare artists who once in a while produces an artwork that gains more instant awe than that of a new Ferrari parked on the street.
And he is one of the few artists today who challenge Money and Power with means that speak at equal level to the most wealthy and powerful.
A master of Vanitas, he always find entertaining ways to remind the viewer of Death, or that diamonds, no matter how many or big, are nothing.
“Judgement Day,” a thirty-foot long gold cabinet filled with 30,000 manufactured diamonds, is an ironic slap in the face of the shallow, while a consolation for the broke.
Viewers in front of “Painful Memories/ Forgotten Tears.” Gold plated, glass and cubic zirconia.
Ancient Greek philosophers — and more recently, psychedelic gurus — used the same rhetoric to one-up kings and rich merchants, but somehow with less efficiency than an entire shark, or a bull’s head, submerged in formaldehyde solution.
Terry, the master of Fashion vanitas, was there !
The exhibition is called “End of an Era.” I don’t know if it refers to some political or financial analyses about the end of our era, or if it states that a particular body of Damien’s own work, had come to an end.
Although the opening was on a Saturday, the uptown gallery (limos waiting outside) was buzzing with famous artists and important people.
The only way to know if somebody was less well-known was to see if he was taking pictures of others. Come to think of it, a lot of people were actually taking pictures of each other, like at an entrance of a Fashion show.
This neck-tie works well with dots.
Rose’s necklace amusingly echoed the diamond paintings.
Damien was surrounded by people asking for autographs and handing to him various books or objects to be signed. A skateboarder even had a Damien dots new skateboard signed. I couldn’t see if he drew a big skull on it, as he did for some others of his fans.
Like Karl, Damien wears lots of Gothic rings : skulls and gargoyles.
A simple post-it signed by Damien
Larry talking with Mick
It turned out that the only discreet viewer was the real rock star, Mick is in a dark crewneck sweater worn under a navy suit. Why does he looks so cool ? Of course, he has seen it all, even Jean-Luc Godard filming the Rolling Stones recording “Sympathy to the Devil.” But while “One+One” could have been the coolest documentary, JLD got carried away by vanity, French intellectualism, or some girlfriend’s advice, and added all these revolutionary theories sequences that required so much coffee for the viewer.
Unlike Damien’s works.
Mick walking along « Judgement Day ».
Bowling at Tom Sachs
A few months ago I was taken to a little party at Tom Sachs‘studio by my friend Glenn.
We were greeted by Tom, wearing desert fatigue and his signature grey t-shirt. If you didn’t know it was him, his name was handwriten on a piece of tape stuck on his chest: Tom. He then wrote our names on tape –Unknown for me- and stuck them on our jackets. Everybody had his name written on tape, like a convention.
If you’d never been to Tom’s studio, it’s 30% hardware store, 60% Art gallery, and the remaining 10%, a miscelleneous mix of accounting, archives and research. The hardware space also includes a small kitchen with a lot of funny signs on the fridge, cornflakes, bananas on a plate, etc..,which could make it all an installation piece that could be sold at Gagosian, except that it’s a real kitchen, meaning a working one. At least, it looks like one. Everything else in this room was also funny, and almost endless fun to look at: Tom’s tools, Tom’s chainsaws, Tom’s cameras, and Tom’s classic Hello Kitty sculptures on a shelf.
I had went there many years before, also taken by Glenn when, I remember, only the hardware space existed. It was for the launch party for Tom’s Chanel guillotine. People were drinking and talking, not paying that much attention to the life-size guillotine with the famous fashion house logo. Then Tom brought a pork roast he had cooked, and placed it where you were supposed to put your head when you were given a death sentence. Tom pulled on a rope to release the knife and it came down with a brief and sinister whistle that not only cut the roast, but the metal tray on which it was presented. I remember juice splashing on people around it, particularly on a romantic, pale, and dark haired young woman, dressed in 1930’s vintage who looked like she could be a poet, or at least someone with a tormenting interest in the Art world.
Shortly after this semi-private event, Tom’s work became more and more famous, while Chanel celebrity remained more or less the same.
DJ Leslie
At this recent party, we found out that the studio has a basement, where unused parts and remains of installations are stacked along the walls. Tom had also installed a make-shift bowling lane, and a few guest were playing.
It made the same thundering noise when the ball rolled and hit the pins, just like a real bowling.
I gave it a try, and when throwing the wooden ball, I realized it was metaphor for artistic success: bowling over the Art world !
Although I never play bowling, I knocked over all the pins on my first attempt.
- Is bowling big in France ? asked me Andy.
Andy playing bowling
Will Bakery
Will with his bakery apron and “Candy Clouds” painting.
Will Cotton is a painter, and when he is not making his voluptuous and airy paintings he bakes delicious sweets and cakes, which transformed the viewer in an eater–able at least to satisfy his desire to be locked in the Ice Cream Cavern, bite into a candy cloud (or the irresistible tender parts of a pale model), by bringing home a real meringue or a pink macaron.
For this purpose, he has set a pop-up bakery in the back of Partners and Spade.
Rose and all the aids were wearing funny diadems
I know many tedious installation artists who, if they’d indulge themselves in doing something else, would rather built a mock-up hardware store in a museum space and sell nails and bolts. The more theorical ones would install a video recording studio, where viewers would be encouraged to tell shameful stories.
The more socially and polically concerned artists would forced visitors to sip a full bowl of a soup made with heterogeneous ingredients ten thousand viewers from various communities would have been invited to bring.
An emanciated, successful young artist from east London, with feverish eyes, dark long hair, and an animal skin dress would lead a taxidermy workshop, with birds and mice found in an abandoned barn covered with graffiti.
And think of the Art some full-time patissiers would do… Gloomy neo-expressionism? Post-Koons? Naïve-Peyton? One thing is sure, the most hazardous attempts would be if they tried to imitate Will…
(Will Bakery is up on 2 more Sundays, November 15th and 22nd)
Wearable Art
The extraordinary plaided Ludwig Kuttner and Beatrix Ost contemplating a work on paper by Greg Lauren
It was at the Take Home a Nude benefit auction that I came accross Greg Lauren’s work: an oil-on-paper, 3-dimensional jacket with tie and shirt that stand alone in the middle of the Sotheby’s exhibition room.
Greg is outstandingly handsome for an artist – as an actor, he would never been cast to play one- but what intrigued me most was the jacket he was wearing. Something that looked like a ragged blanket with a stream cut, and scraps of paper and various material sewn onto the fabric like a collage piece.
I went to visit him a few days later at his gallery space at the corner of Wooster and Grand. A place that I immediately identified from a distance a month ago as an upcoming Yohji store, with half opened crates, and mostly black silhouettes.
It’s also where Greg had set up his studio, surrounded by a forest of mannequins bearing his works.
On front row, from left to right: Fringe, The Marine, "the Boxer, and Superman.
The various style paper jackets and coats evoked the remains of an abandonned house, where clothes left hanging have been dried in the shape of the wearers who have long ago vanished. Upon closer inspection, some pieces have a darker, battered and stepped-over texture, with faded comics colors slightly appearing from underneath, as if they had been unearthed from a junkyard.
In a general way our clothes determine us, and will survive long after: no matter if it’s a dude’s long gone plaid shirt from Uniqlo or a guitar hero’s leather fringed jacket.
Only a very few of us has the power to influence their own clothes.
Greg wearing the Mistake Jacket
Greg also does real jackets that can be worn. But they are more like art pieces that can be worn. There is a “Paris jacket” with sewn-on torn euro bills. Or the “Mistake jacket” with the Mistake explanation hand-written inside on a piece of paper. I’m not obsessed by practical details, but I brought this up to Greg: How do you clean them? You can’t. You don’t bring an art piece to the cleaner, or wash it yourself. You keep it as it is.
I like the idea of never cleaning the fabric, so it gets even more personalized by stains and time. Like a hipster.
A blond sculptor from Oslo
Art lovers savoring works by David Hominal
I took these snapshots at an opening a month ago at Gavin Brown enterprise .
“Europaïsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft” (please double check the gallery web site for the exact spelling) featured 3 European artists, among them, Ida Ekblad, an artist from Oslo.
Ida Ekblad in front of "Dusty Chimes of Chrome"
Ida is pretty, and speaks with a slightly hoarse voice which reminds you that none only she’s a poet but also a sculptor, working with metal parts she gathered from junkyards. For me the sculptures evoke, in their colors, early Chamberlains from when the cars were painted in pale blues, off-whites, beiges and yellows (which looks great with rust).
Ida was wearing big headphones around her neck, so there was no pressure to engage her in conversation. If you said something uninteresting or dull she could just listen to her music.
Other works by Ida can also be seen at The Journal Gallery, in Brooklyn.
"Royal Festival Hall"
Artists talk
David Hominal's"Windows",encaustic on canvas, sheeps wool.
Fashion note: the denim jacket worn by this viewer works perfectly with the wool.
All that happened
Reading on my vintage Duke Kahanamoku Maui longboard
I love surfing.
If you paddle a little further than the other surfers, beyond the breaking line, not only will it keep you away from the harsh competition, but it also leave you plenty of time to read, think, or simply do nothing.
And at the end of the day, when everybody’s gone, you just catch a wave back to the shore.
It’s upon my return to civilization that, looking at the Purple Diary, I realized all that happened when I was surfing.
Beautiful sunset in Biarritz
While Terry was busy shooting a Pirelli calendar, Olivier was kissing more girls in a night than most people in their entire life. And he was also taking hundreds of new photographs of the sexy Natacha Ramsay in unexpected locations.
"Natacha Ramsay in Arizona", after Olivier Zahm
And this is how I learned about the death of Dash Snow, the fantastic artist with a fantastic name.
Before I read Glenn’s beautiful eulogy, I only knew of Dash from pictures in a 2008 issue of Purple.
Dash Snow, after Purple
Even the hipsters I questioned at the time were uncertain when it came to describing Dash’s work. Some said he was doing Polaroids. Others that he was handsome : « You have no idea with the beard, but he is incredibly handsome ! »
But even if you haven’t seen his collages or anything else, you could tell he was a true artist by these photographs, just like when you see a picture of Marcel Duchamp playing chess, Jackson Pollock putting own his paint-dripped shoes, or Picasso proudly standing in his briefs.
The effect is the same of Dash choosing an LP, drinking a beer in bed, or wearing a dress.
"Dash Snow in his Bowery studio", after Purple
For this is how one knows he is confronting a real artist : when you feel a little square or slightly overcautious !
By the way, on my last day of surfing, I flooded my ipod while listening to « Perfection as a Hipster », by God Help The Girl.
The Venice Biennale
The Venice Biennale is to the Art World what Milan is to the Fashion crowd. The romantic types should stay away, the company of heavy-weight collectors, ego-maniac artists and cynical critics is not for the faint-hearted. Not to mention the harsh competition between secondary market hipsters of all kind. I toughened myself weeks ago with special combat training and meditation. The programme includes mental visualisation of forcing entry to exclusive events, and surviving skills like grabbing cocktail food in hostile environment, and of course sleeping at the occasional crash-pad.
First, I wanted to drop by the French Pavilion to see what the great Claude Lévêque, author of the well known hilarious neon writing « je suis une merde » had planned for the national representation. But I decided to wait a few more days before visiting the more ascetic Bruce Nauman at the US Pavilion.
I was trying to concentrate on the Liam Gillick’s installation at the German space when I got disturbed by a woman talking loudly on the phone about what she was going to wear that night to François’s.
It irks me I had no invitation for the most sought after event : the opening of the Punta Della Dogana, the place François Pinault had founded to house parts of his immense collection and exhibit it to the public.
I didn’t get discouraged by the fact that more than a thousand influential people and Art lovers had received invitations but me, and once in my best attire, I tried to hail a water taxi.
Unfortunately, all the decent boats had been reserved for the invited guests.
Alternative sailing to the Punta della Dogana
I finally ran into a protesting artist, who in the manner of the artist Swoon had assembled various trash pieces into a floating barge. After negotiating a 150 € “suggested donation”, he accepted to take me on board. Although the crossing to the Giudecca normally takes a few minutes, we got caught in traffic on the Grand Canal, my shoes flooded and my pants washed by waves from the celebrities’ speed boats rushing by.
Marc and Stella first thought I was some intruder sneaking in
We choose to dock behind the buffet, a place that seemed most discreet. Alarmed by the giant black flag floating above our embarkation, or perhaps in fear of a sea-food risotto shortage, a guest fiercely ejected me back to the sea. I recognized Marc, and begged for hospitality. Although I had been refused entrance by a young arrogant P.R. assistant at her last show in Paris, Stella personally helped me up the pier, and handed me a welcoming glass of prosecco.
- So, how’s Tadao’s work ? I asked, Does it look good ?
But my new friends had disappeared, trapped in a crowd of admirers.
With François Pinault
Spotting our host alone, I rushed to him, thinking it was good timing to greet him before the party takes off.
- ” Thank you for collecting so much Art,” I told him. “And this Punta is a really cool…”
- ”Would you mind stepping back ?” a staff member interrupted me, “there are photographers at work behind you.”
The charming Margherita Missoni
This man told me he owns a great football team
The elegant Patriarch of Venice
There was a line to enter the Dogana. But once in, only the lonely were looking at the Art. I spent a long time studying « Fucking hell », the monumental Jack and Dinos Chapman masterpiece. An older man, dressed like a priest, was one of the rare visitors, like me, to show more interest in the works displayed than in watching tycoons and super-models.
- ”Are you wearing Alexander McQueen ?” I asked.
- ”No, it’s vintage Comme,” he replied dryly.
It turned out he was a real cardinal. His position, he admitted, made him a frequent invite to this kind of event.
- I suppose the Art world considers me a potential client, he said.
- Why do you think contemporary Art is usually based on jokes ? I asked.
- Well, life’s a joke, buddy, the serious bit comes after.
And he slapped my back. I was quite shaken, and went wandering in the next rooms.
"Untitled", by Maurizio Cattelan: one of the most persuasive piece in the collection
Agnès Varda, a godmother for French Hipsters
There were rumors of a dinner hosted by Angela Missoni, in honor of (the less ascetic than I thought) Bruce Nauman, on a yacht. Following the crowd, I befriended a drunk oligarch who wanted to talk about his own collection.
- ”I got them all,” he bragged, “the guy who does the handbags ! the nurse painter ! all of them !”
He was on the list, and we got on board together. The yacht was packed with the most beautiful girls, all shoeless so as not to harm the precious wood deck, which gives them a particular unusual dreamy coolness, but I intended to have at least one serious Art conversation and headed first to the celebrated artist.
I unsuccessfully tries to give my email address to the beautiful Anouk Lepère
Pierre Bismuth at Team Gallery
I was in a downtown joint chewing a vegetarian burger for the first time –I’ve been running on low battery for the past 3 months, and a yoga instructor met in a bar the previous night had just advised me to cut on meat for energy saving- when Pierre Bismuth, the famous french artist, yelled at me accross the room. I ran over to his table to found out he was taking me for somebody else. Nonetheless, he invited me to his opening on the same evening at Team.
The place was packed with Art hipsters. I had to fiercely fight my way in. It was not easy, because most of the girls were very tall, and strong. My old sneakers were pierced by high heels several time until I found shelter next to a wall projection of a silent black and white film footage featuring Freud (Sigmund, not Lucian) chatting (and possibly smoking a cigar) outdoors.
Pierre's installation view
Once I had collected myself in this safe haven, I got the idea to snapshot Bismuth. Why not documenting the Art world ? I thought. How many insiders would do that better than me ? None. But Bismuth was protected by a triple raw of admirers, each of them craving to be noticed. Hey, Pierre ? He was too busy alternating small talks and no-nonsense insights on his work to even look at me. I’d realized I’d better wait for the place to clean up and went for beers at Fanelli’s. On my way back, I got intrigued by a crowd gathering in front of a building entrance, and joined another party thrown by one of those kitchen applyance top brands where I grabbed a few more glasses of this high octane red only to be found in NYC. When I finally returned to Team, there were only the most insistant types left. I might have seem a little drunk, because on the shots, Bismuth is looking back funny at me.
Pierre with anonymous Art hipster
Pierre with "Following the right hand of Louise Brooks in Beauty contest"
I’m amazed how good those snapshots are ! Hey, dude, aren’t they professionnal grade ? I wanted them to reflects on the art, but it’s the dressing style that comes out the most beautifully.
“The Cultivated Life” at Partners & Spade
3 "Gallery Booth" paintings by Jean-Philippe Delhomme at Parners & Spade
I went to Jean-Philippe Delhomme’s opening and new book « The Cultivated Life » launch at Partners & Spade the other day. It was Fools Day, and I was expecting some kind of weird joke, but I was curious to see the guy who drew me. The place was pretty crowded, even though it was raining. Glenn O’ Brien and Gina Nanni were there, Thom Browne, Gaby from threeASFOUR, Mathias Augustiniak from M/M Paris, Spade himself. And many others. I kept shaking hands, but …nobody was paying attention to me, The Unknown Hipster ! Only one of the gallery assistant had a smile when I told her my name. Even Delhomme nodded back in distract when I greeted him. Was it for what I had dragged myself out my pad ? Instead of comfortably listening to one of my favorite poetry web radios ? I swore I’ll never go out again!..
Andy Spade holding a fish tank
Glenn O' Brien
Gina Nanni
Gaby from threeASFOUR
Mathias Augustyniak from M/M Paris
Thom Browne
Claude, a cool hipster with oversized glasses
Partners & Spade Anthony Sperduti
13 comments