No one was willing to buy what was quite likely the most inflammatory piece of art at this year’s Armory Show — a 150cm-by-239cm watercolor of Bernard Madoff — but plenty of people had interesting ideas on what to do with the painting, and its infamous subject, who stands accused of operating a US$50 billion worldwide Ponzi scheme.
“They should charge a buck a dart to toss at that thing,” said Brian Tepper, 39, an artist and art therapist, as he stared at Madoff’s outsized visage, which gazed back with a faint smile and almost wistful eyes. The portrait, rendered in gray, black and white by the China-born artist Yan Peiming (嚴培明), was priced at US$100,000.
Tepper was with two artist friends, Chris Cozel, 52, who remarked that she would like to see Madoff “crucified,” and Virginia Dutton, also 52, who proposed doing a portrait of Madoff, in one of her favorite media: blood.
Given the economic crash, it was hardly surprising that no one wanted to pay six figures for a portrait of one of the most vilified figures in the world. Writing by e-mail from Paris, Yan said he had finished the painting in one day, and chose Madoff because he was “a kind of symbol of the economic crisis, a kind of personalization of the savage speculation, without control.”
Asked who might buy such a painting, Yan, whose work is being exhibited in the Louvre, wrote “everything can be sold in this world.” Yet not, it seemed, at the Armory Show. David Zwirner, the gallery owner who displayed the Madoff painting, said that he was unprepared for the slowness of sales at this year’s show, which ran for five days and ended on Sunday.
“I went there with low expectations,” said Zwirner, “and they were not met.”
Regulars at the fair along the Hudson River at 55th Street, said the energy was far lower this year. People who waited in long lines in years past were surprised when they waltzed right in. One visitor, Thomas Warnke, 41, an architect, said he liked the thinner crowds. “There’s better air,” he said.
In the first few hours after the fair opened at noon on Sunday, the hallways between booths seemed ghostly, though the place grew more crowded — and merrier — as the day wore on and more wine was dispensed.
Giovanni Garcia-Fenech, the show’s spokesman, said the turnout was bigger than the 52,000 who attended last year. Compared to previous years, the fair was also bigger: it had expanded from one Hudson pier to two. This meant that more galleries exhibited, though Garcia-Fenech said that the applications for spots were due in August (booth rental runs between US$9,700 and US$57,500), before the economic crisis had fully hit.
Privately, gallery owners said they usually were prepared to knock 10 percent off asking prices, but this year were accepting offers of up to 30 percent off.
One booth that was consistently hopping was that of Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, where an artist, Christine Hill, had set up a faux apothecary and was listening to people’s woes and dispensing “prescriptions” and advice, for US$20 and up. Hill was hearing it all, from insomniacs, regretful lovers, discontented children and infertile couples. Surprisingly few people expressed panic over financial worries, she said.
Several gallery owners said they would most likely not take part in next year’s show, among them Isabella Bortolozzi, who runs a gallery in Berlin. This year was her first at the Armory, but as of midday Sunday she was deeply disappointed — she had yet to sell anything.
Yet Frank Elbaz, the gallery owner showing at the booth across from Bortolozzi, was ebullient. He had brought seven pieces by Gyan Panchal over from his gallery in Paris, including a torn ink cartridge package with a stick of charcoal resting inside, each priced between US$3,000 and US$7,000. On Saturday, he sold all seven to someone he would describe only as a top Democratic lobbyist from Washington.
Another decidedly pleased exhibitor was Vladimir Ovcharenko of the Regina Gallery in Moscow. On Saturday, he sold a neon sign by a French artist, Claire Fontaine, for US$20,000.
It read: “Capitalism Kills.”
Nov. 11 to Nov. 17 People may call Taipei a “living hell for pedestrians,” but back in the 1960s and 1970s, citizens were even discouraged from crossing major roads on foot. And there weren’t crosswalks or pedestrian signals at busy intersections. A 1978 editorial in the China Times (中國時報) reflected the government’s car-centric attitude: “Pedestrians too often risk their lives to compete with vehicles over road use instead of using an overpass. If they get hit by a car, who can they blame?” Taipei’s car traffic was growing exponentially during the 1960s, and along with it the frequency of accidents. The policy
Hourglass-shaped sex toys casually glide along a conveyor belt through an airy new store in Tokyo, the latest attempt by Japanese manufacturer Tenga to sell adult products without the shame that is often attached. At first glance it’s not even obvious that the sleek, colorful products on display are Japan’s favorite sex toys for men, but the store has drawn a stream of couples and tourists since opening this year. “Its openness surprised me,” said customer Masafumi Kawasaki, 45, “and made me a bit embarrassed that I’d had a ‘naughty’ image” of the company. I might have thought this was some kind
What first caught my eye when I entered the 921 Earthquake Museum was a yellow band running at an angle across the floor toward a pile of exposed soil. This marks the line where, in the early morning hours of Sept. 21, 1999, a massive magnitude 7.3 earthquake raised the earth over two meters along one side of the Chelungpu Fault (車籠埔斷層). The museum’s first gallery, named after this fault, takes visitors on a journey along its length, from the spot right in front of them, where the uplift is visible in the exposed soil, all the way to the farthest
The room glows vibrant pink, the floor flooded with hundreds of tiny pink marbles. As I approach the two chairs and a plush baroque sofa of matching fuchsia, what at first appears to be a scene of domestic bliss reveals itself to be anything but as gnarled metal nails and sharp spikes protrude from the cushions. An eerie cutout of a woman recoils into the armrest. This mixed-media installation captures generations of female anguish in Yun Suknam’s native South Korea, reflecting her observations and lived experience of the subjugated and serviceable housewife. The marbles are the mother’s sweat and tears,
RSS