26 February 2007 (later)
Okay – it’s not (only) nascent schizophrenia (pitfall of a Gemini). The Sarmento was a Baldesssari-inflected quartet of film noirs femmes fatales. And now that I think of it, the “Ellen” sums up my attitude of the moment – here in this clutch of marauding dealers and collectors – “You know too much, gone too far, and I’m so tired…..” But I’m holding a pen, not a gun and in any case would never fire one into a crowd. So unpredictable sometimes where we end up and why – I guess that applies to artists, too. Aurel Schreiber (Paris) is showing an Anthony Goicolea – though it’s not a particularly interesting example. It’s great to see Mindy Shapero’s almost always interesting work cropping up everywhere – e.g., The Breeder out of Athens. Dave Muller, too – very interesting pieces everywhere, including here at The Approach, who also show a great Rezi van Lankveld painting. For some reason I’m not blown away by the Germaine Kruip kinetic conststruction. Should I be? Some of the best and most adventurous work seems to always come out of London. Herald St. shows a brilliant Tony Swain gouache on newsprint that – speaking of Baldessari and other masters – is a small masterpiece. I have a Grail moment – I live for moments like these – broken by the hilarity of Scott King’s “How I Sank American Vogue” (call it the 3 second re-write of The Devil Wears Prada – except this is actually good). Ash Lange tells me Swain will represent Scotland at the Venice Biennale and I think -- somebody knows what they’re doing.
Two superb Bridget Rileys catch my eye at Timothy Taylor – and it blows my mind that they’re not sold. The Sean Scully paintings continue to move briskly. What gives? It’s no accident that Christie’s is buying Haunch of Venison, I think (more about their goods later) – as Carol Vogel reported in the Times. And maybe I should scope out this auction. I haven’t been to a New York auction in quite a while – though I haven’t phoned in a press request and wonder if I can even be admitted. Right now all decision-making is out of my hands. The yellow tape barriers are going up and everyone is being hustled to the exits. I have no idea where I’m going, but I’ll settle for the next whiskey bar – at least for a moment. I never get into cars with strangers, but these are strangers bearing art and “it’s only a few blocks.”