Art, I suppose

One must remember that to be in the art world is to be pretty (gorgeous is even better- but not too gorgeous, otherwise you are regulated to the zoo of models). I made this observation when I was looking at photos my agents in Venice dredged up, from this Venice art fair that goes on there. Everybody looked exactly the same- as if they were transplants from the hair of the fashion world, and everybody knows that fashion has no heir, so everything is particularly stark and boring. There is a reason Anna only attends fashion world parties for 15 minutes- they are simply insufferably boring events filled with so many patting each other on the back that one begins to suspect one is in some sort of modern dance instillation (the most terrifying aspect of this being that you're surrounded by all these modern dancers, slapping each other on the back- not too hard as to damage their finely-sculpted skin, and that getting out means moving around them and through them).

I said to my assistant, "you know, the problem with art today is that there's too many pretty people, and they all look so similar, so the art they produce is so similar and everything's boring. Andy Warhol was never pretty. It's his mistake, though, probably- the Edie mistake. Now everyone wants to be an Edie and nobody wants to be an Andy".

"Oh."

"And that's the problem- nobody wants to be ugly anymore. Too many good looking people. Make a note of that. I only want to hire conjoined twins and circus freaks from now on- hire the entire Diane Arbus range of people. Is there a place that sells them? Buy them in bulk. Staff them in the stores. Give a few stickers that they can stick on themselves and say "artist".

"Is that what makes an artist?"

"Of course. I have a label sewn into this suit that says "dressmaker".

A bit later, when the assistant was gone, I started talking to myself.

"The collectors used to be odd looking too, you know- bulbous New York men in Italian suits and women wearing colours that'd make Matisse blush. The collectors are boring looking as well, now. Is it because of boring looking art? Does boring looking art breed boring looking people?" I started throwing some Picassos out the window, in the hope that some women would look at the painting and give birth to an interesting-looking, interesting-thinking child. I put the Jeff Koons I was sent as a gift into the deepest darkest depths of my closest, hoping nobody would be able to see it ever- dull art is a dangerous thing, you know. I threw several Cartier-Bressons out the window beside the first window, and out the third window I threw several volumes of a Lee Friedlander book, in the hope that somebody would give birth to a child who doesn't follow the terrors of the Düsseldorf school of photography, and those hideous Becher people- I met them once and they made their cups of tea exactly the same way, every time. I asked them if they ever got bored and they smiled tightly.

Phones

I hate phones. Andy Warhol loved them- he used to ring me up at 5 AM and just breath into the mouthpiece. This would go on for hours, and eventually I would just put the phone down on my table and let him continue. Eventually he would fall asleep and a coked out assistant would hang up.

Sometimes he'd pretend to be a salesman and say "would you like to buy my vacuum cleaner". That's all he said. Then I might indulge him and say "why yes, I would like to buy a vacuum cleaner. How much do they cost?".
But he wouldn't say anymore as if he was an actor with stagefright who couldn't remember his next line. Then I would say "Andy, I am tired of this nonsense, I am hanging up". He just continued breathing.

He's dead now.

Occasionally when I am in New York I get rung up on my telephone by salesmen who have somehow found out my number (this never happens in Paris because I cut the phone line). I say to them: "my vacuum is in disarray over my bird, hmm?". They say "we can offer you great life insurance, for only..." (I thought this opening move would confuse them, now I am convinced that they don't actually speak English; only know how to say a few lines and recognise the word "yes"). At this point I cut them off: "my house is trapped in a tree, chic, non?"
They continue: "for only 995 per year! This is a really great offer ma'm*".
I then will put the phone down and let them continue talking. The longest someone talked for was 3 hours. I pity the man who wrote the script they read off.

Anyway, these phones affect my work. One cannot sketch when a phone is ringing. I presume those that use phones as their main form of communication are too ugly to speak to me in person. So it is a blessing in disguise, hmmm?


*I fear this "insurance" script is targeted towards vulnerable old ladies. Which I am not, hm?