Of Art and Life
A canvas that sold for over a million dollars was shredded by its frame but no one is sure if it was destroyed or simply transformed. The frame was included in the art work, and it was also created by Bansky.
I’m not sure why there is a confusion about the intent of the art work—it all came from the same creator. A clear message, it seems to me. A metaphor for the life we live, the art we adore, and the crazy of it all. For heaven’s sake, there was an alarm inside the frame and it started going off as the gavel went down.
Ah, Sotheby’s, you just got Banksy-ed.
“Girl with a Balloon” (2006) was the final lot of the evening sale at Sotheby’s and ended things off with an impressive final price of approximately one million dollars, give or take a few thousand. Playing the assumed role of the greatest street artist, Banksy once more sent a message across the streets of life—nothing matters. We all die. The things we worship disintegrate. Whatever.
And of course this sent me off on a tear for a few days. Days wherein a lot of writing got accomplished and much thinking left me staring off into space.
- And it’s a wonderful day today, sunny and cool—jacket and knee-socks weather we used to say.
- I watched “Nurse Jackie” on Netflix and was quite impressed. It’s a very good story of drug addiction within normal lives and at what cost to essentially good people. Great character development and acting, especially by Edie Falco. It’s a good series. All of the actors do a fine job. And it’s not just a show of drug addiction. The obsessiveness of the lead character—Jackie—for good nursing and care of patients easily transfers to an obsessiveness for the feeling that is transferred by the drugs she takes. She is going to do what is right for her patients and never loses that. The viewer cares for her as well as the rest of the characters, coming to care for them all. As I watched the great conniving and manipulation by Jackie it was with such creative and duplicid storytelling (of hers), that there were times I couldn’t believe there was a way out, but there always was. Fine writing, fine storytelling. And the realism was too much to be disturbing. In fact, many times I thought an addict watching the show would have to leave and contact their dealer.
- As I reflect upon my first marriage I realize that each of us wanted three major things at odds with one another. I wanted to be loved, adored, and have a partnership. He wanted to be adored, indulged, and have a great deal of sex. A lot. But of course we were too incredibly young to be of any maturity that was necessary. And it took me many years to realize what a jerk I was, invested in waiting for someone else to do what I expected of them. (I picture myself with arms folded and a look of disdain upon my face. But also hurt and longing.)
- Very late one night I decided to play the keyboard. It was then I discovered that only one ear on the headphones worked. Crap. It’s too late to take it back, unused tho it was. I played nonetheless. How sad of me that ability rots with disuse.
- Why is nothing more being said about the immigrants and the children? The ones detained and abused by ICE. I cannot believe all is settled or we would have heard. I’m sure there must be more which is appalling and not being reported. Is it just that I don’t watch the news on TV? Is it not in the reporting I read? Children used as sex toys by despicable guards, the dregs of society. Women raped. Will any of them be the same? This is the world we live in. This is the United States today.
- Glenn Gould never played Chopin. He said he did not care for the Romantics. Huh.
- I wish “Nurse Jackie” was still on and unfolding—I miss those people—I want to be with them. All of our heroes are flawed. Except for the mice. The mice are perfect. And that’s the “waaaaaayyyy things are.”