What The Hell, How Much??

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In the 90’s art became obscene or the art market became outrageous and ironically linked to the sales of real estate. Of course one could say I have a brand new 41,000 square foot monster on Fire Island and I need a giant magenta Jeff Koons Poodle.  IN MY F&*%**^ living room!

Galleries became bigger, became associated with big names – excuse me not the artists, the art dealers, Gagosian, ( add more). Multinational!! The more big name galleries the more product, a “Star Making Machinery”. Thanks Joanie! More new wealth needed green paintings, blue paintings, red paintings, LOUD, LOUD art, full of no concept or idea other than “Look at my painting! Painting, it was a mess and BIG!!!

I was approached by a artist here in LA who got me to paint for a dealer in Miami where like he, I would paint master copies (Dufe, Modigliani) for his clientele (Asian primarily) I sold two and then quit that crap. Money was okay, but come on I HAVE INTEGRITY, the lament of a creative, right??? A lot of people struck it rich and laughed their way to the bank, not my bank, true!

A lot of good art was made, but even more crap was pushed through the sucking orifice of the art dealer. The anal passage called the gallery. Then the collapse of 2008! But not the art market, no. It kept growing. According to art critic Jerry Saltz, art critic for the New York Magazine and his recent article “MAGIC AMID THE MONEY”.

But like all systems, contraction comes about, the universe doesn’t like a vacuum and so forth and art started to show up from small private places. The machinery had spewed out so much “factory” like stuff that this balance had to occur. IT ALWAYS DOES!!

Guess what happened true artists started finding their voice again and as if being awakened from a candy nightmare artwork started showing up that was personal and “private” “Out There” yet exhilarating, again!

But the relationship between artist and art lover will be defiled by a dealer soon enough. Because people with money demand a firewall, a barrier between them and the effrontery of direct artist collector experience. I fear they fear their inability to understand, empathize, sympathize and they need this arbiter of tastelessness. The Art Dealer!!

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