Pisces (February 20–March 20)
We know how to save the National Endowments for the Arts and Humanities from President Trump, Pisces, and your astrological forecast for the month holds the key. Just vocalize those acronyms — “nea!” and “neh!” Pretty uninspiring, right? But change the agencies’ names to Your Endowment for the Arts and Your Endowment for the Humanities, and not only do you give the public a greater sense of ownership, but suddenly you’re discussing arts funding like it’s the chorus of a hair metal anthem: “yeh, yea!” You’ve been in a very negative mood lately, but under the current stellar configuration, all you need to do is think positively, and you will soar.
Aries (March 21–April 20)
What’s the most fitting punishment for damaging a Yayoi Kusama infinity room, Aries? One hundred hours of forced pumpkin painting? Two hundred hours of polishing Kusama’s mirrors? Twelve hours of solitary confinement inside one of the infinity rooms? This month you’ll need to show leadership, specifically through the administration of justice, so get creative with your reprimanding and retributions.
Taurus (April 21–May 21)
Abraham Poincheval is good at seemingly simple yet logistically complex durational art stunts. He just spent a week inside a carved-out boulder. Before that he spent two weeks inside a bear sculpture, and before that he spent a week living on a platform perched 40 feet in the sky. He also spent several months traveling up the Rhône river in a giant glass bottle. You get the idea, Taurus: this month a lot of folks will tell you your ideas are impractical or impossible, but pay them no mind, they’re living under (or possibly inside) rocks.
Gemini (May 22–June 21)
Of course there’s an Italian McDonald’s with an ancient Roman road passing through it; what could be appropriate for the franchise that popularized the drive-through? We can’t wait for the construction site of a new Dunkin’ Donuts to toss up an ancient wheel, or for the builders of a forthcoming Taco Bell to uncover a centuries-old bell. Don’t get too worked up this month, Gemini, the universe has a way of setting things right.
Cancer (June 22–July 22)
We’ve never felt so anxious about a Whitney Biennial before. How will the curators fill all that space? There are just two of them (Christopher Y. Lew and Mia Locks) and thousands upon thousands of square feet in the new Whitney building — this can’t possibly end well. You’re also dealing with very high expectations this month, Cancer, but so long as you have a solid co-curator at your side, you’ll do great things. And if you don’t … Craigslist?
Leo (July 23–August 22)
We live in a strange world, Leo, but it could be worse — imagine if we lived in a Leonora Carrington painting! One with giant, furry demons prancing around, dour figures ferrying regal beasts about in ornate carriages, vast and structurally impossible temples whose columns are filled with inscrutable inscriptions, and ghost dragons swooping down from stormy skies. Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad. This month, no matter how bad things get, you can always take refuge in art.
Virgo (August 23–September 23)
You’ve been in New York, Los Angeles, London — or whatever large city with a thriving art scene you likely inhabit — for too long. You need to get out there and see some world; as luck would have it, your current celestial chart indicates that now is an ideal time to apply for grants and residencies. Especially adventurous Virgos should consider applying to programs like the Arctic Circle, the residency at the European Organization for Nuclear Research, or Land Art Mongolia. The further from the home-wrecking ex who is also in your astrological forecast, the better.
Libra (September 24–October 23)
Spider-Man is a pretty good art thief nickname, but kind of obvious. If you were an art thief, Libra — maybe you are, we’re not here to judge — your tabloid-appointed superhero nickname would probably be Storm, because you’re not very covert about it, but you get the job done. This month, just focus on achieving your goals; you can clean up whatever messes you make along the way next month. (Legal note: Hyperallergic in no way advocates art theft or any other illegal or immoral actions.)
Scorpio (October 24–November 22)
To date, Banksy has created a hotel, an amusement park, a pet store, and an unassuming stand in Central Park selling his prints at bargain prices. What type of generic business will he lampoon next? A Banksy ice cream parlor where all the ice cream is served melted? A Banksy casino where all the slot machines spew out currency from countries that no longer exist and all the kings, queens, and princes in the decks of cards have been beheaded? Oh wait, it’s so obvious — a Banksy bank! This month, Scorpio, the solutions to your problems will be hiding in plain sight.
Sagittarius (November 23–December 21)
We’ve had it with these “Shazam for art” apps! Either their databases are too limited (or illegally procured), or they’re tied to dubious art sales platforms, or the technology just doesn’t work. What we want is a “Kazaam for art” — that’s right, an all-star basketball player-turned-Hollywood genie who recommends art we might like. Something tells us Amar’e Stoudemire could be interested. Sometimes, Sagittarius, the best way to fix a broken idea is to make it more elaborate, not less.
Capricorn (December 22–January 20)
After spending all of last week on piers, in open-plan warehouses, marching around armories, and other art-ified luxury spaces until our eyes went dry and our knees buckled, we started to wonder: what’s it all for? Do art fairs really represent some measure of success or professional accomplishment that’s worth pursuing? Are we all just prostituting ourselves to feed the vanity of the super-rich? If you’re going to get anything done this month, Capricorn, you mustn’t think like this. Keep your head down and stay focused on small tasks.
Aquarius (January 21–February 19)
We have a theory that Klaus Biesenbach and Hans Ulrich Obrist are actually three different people, and triplets. The trio swaps facial accessories and wardrobes to give the impression of being everywhere in the art world at all times, occasionally touching down together to dispel any suspicions. But wash some of the silver out of Biesenbach’s hair and shave off that few days’ facial scruff, and remove Obrist’s curator glasses, and they are basically indistinguishable. You’re going to wish you had two substitutes to tag team with this month, Aquarius — you’ve really overcommitted yourself.