God damn it to Hell! I fell in love with the new gallery assistant!
How is this possible? I had every intention of turning off my “sexy radar” and avoiding another love crisis. Especially after the last gallery assistant made such a show of her capriciousness. But what am I to do? The heart wants what the heart wants and my heart is no different than anyone else’s heart in as much as it wants what it wants too, only a good deal more so. I tried to avoid her but she happens to be the one who picks up the phone when I call the gallery. Which I do with some frequency. For instance, the other day I was very hungry but there was nothing in the fridge so I called the gallery about that. And yesterday I saw an online video of a beaver attacking a man in Russia which made me chuckle. So I called about that.
Although I suppose I could have “emailed” the “link” just as easily. Wow! When I get to thinking about it, that might have been preferable as my description didn’t really do the video justice and might have explained her long silences.
But in any case, who should answer the phone in both instances? Sweet Brigitte with her lilting Prussian monotone. The other day when I called the gallery furious over a perceived social slight her dulcet tones calmed my rage and caused me to rethink twittering an all-caps attack on my tormentors. And when that awful hack of a critic Christian Viveros-Fauné lambasted my most recent show Penises and Vaginas, Sometimes Apart, Often Together at the Hirshhorn Museum, it was her voice that played in my head and kept me from hunting down, killing, and dismembering that diminutive Irishman.
But look at me going on! I promised myself not to ever, ever, ever fall in love with one of the gallery assistants at Maxilillian Bingeweary again. After Elizabeth (the tall one) had me arrested, and Angelique (also tall but French as well) had me double arrested, and Francesca (tall too) hired someone to stab me, and Helga (short and dark, oddly enough) shot me point blank but thankfully missed, I swore off fancy gallerinas in favor of more down-to-earth girls like Joyce, my life model. She was happy to stay in on a Saturday night through Tuesday morning and simply finish an eight ball with me. Joyce didn’t need all the social hobnobbing these gallerinas do.
Still though, Joyce has been missing for several days now — and did I mention that the heart wants what the heart wants? So that leaves me pining for Brigitte.
Brigitte, Brigitte, Brigitte.
The Brigitte who answers the phones or calls me to ask me my bank account number, routing number, and IBAN for a large international deposit. The Brigitte who calls to tell me she booked my flight or to let me know there’s a package at the gallery addressed to me or that all future gallery financial transactions will now be done in Bitcoin. The Brigitte who listens, quietly, perhaps waiting for me to say it:
“Say it!” She thinks “Say it, you mad genius! Tell me you love me!”
I wonder if it would be considered unprofessional for me to propose to paint her vagina. You know, for my upcoming show? It is, after all, what I do. I paint vaginas. So I suppose that gives me some cover. I mean, someone has to pose for those things. I don’t paint them from thin air!
Maybe I could just ask in passing like … “Oh hey Brigitte. Boy! This show at the Ludwig Museum in Cologne is really busting my balls! I have so many paintings to complete where am I going to find all the vaginas to put in them? [pause to think] Wait a second, you have a vagina, right?”
The rest really just writes itself. If I were to ask her and she said no could I still parlay the conversation into some sort of dinner date?
Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Wish me luck!
Michael Alan Alien and Jadda Cat were performing their “Living Installation” at Pier 45 in Hudson River Park when officers accused them of soliciting on the premises.
Two activists from the group Ultima Generazione glued their hands to the base of the ancient Roman statue “Laocoön and His Sons,” dubbed as a “prototypical icon of human agony.”
Choose from over 140 courses for adults and youth ages 13 to 17, including options for beginning, intermediate, and advanced students. Enroll by August 23 for an early bird discount.
This week, award-winning nature photography, reviewing Jared Kushner’s new book, Smithsonian NMAAHC hires a new digital curator, Damien Hirst plans to burn paintings, and more.
Guston became a witness to the 20th century’s darkest and foulest experiences without closing his eyes or turning away, and enabled us to see and reflect upon this brutality.
The Brooklyn organization is now accepting new project inquiries for its fee-based fabrication services in printmaking, ceramics, and large-scale public art.
William Klein: YES, a career retrospective at the International Center of Photography, is good for aficionados and neophytes alike.
Latinx and Indigenous artists use automobiles to amplify their cultural identity and challenge systems of erasure.
The Newark Museum of Art Presents Jazz Greats: Classic Photographs from the Bank of America Collection
Photographers Antony Armstrong Jones, Milt Hinton, Chuck Stewart, Barbara Morgan, and more capture a breadth of legendary and local musicians and performance artists. On view through August 21.
Artist Mona Chalabi’s site-specific installation at the entrance to the Brooklyn Museum foregrounds the importance of urban vegetation and its inequities.
Compared to self-identifying liberals, conservatives were more prone to change their views on COVID-19 vaccinations after they were shown ghastly images of the disease’s symptoms.
“Our bodies are not that cheap,” said one Iraqi artist who signed an open letter to the biennale’s curators.