The time has come. Last night was the last episode of Work of Art this season. One of our artistes dreams was made, and two others were crushed, much like bones after a terrible murder. I often follow up my Work of Art viewings with SVU. It puts the devastating losses in perspective.
Simon comes to visit the home of the bonding couch. He sends the artistes on a train ride! They head up to idyllic Cold Springs, New York, where China greets them in a rather fetching trench coat/dress combo. We expect so much from her.
This week, China announces that this week, “it’s time to sell out.” Because no one has “sold out” by going on a reality show, right? Anyways, the challenge is to create art to sell in the street and also display in the gallery. Art and commerce! The challenge rules are a little different: everyone works in teams of two, and they have five hours to combine shopping and studio time.
We open with our artistes bonding on their bonding couch that they always bond on. They mourn the loss of the Sucklord, until they remember that Dusty had promised Young that if their team won the previous challenge, Dusty would wear Young’s short shorts. A disturbingly sexually charged montage follows. This show is so fucking weird.
OMG guys, the artistes have arrived in Brooklyn. China Chow announces the challenge. They artists have to do street art! In Williamsburg! So hood. It’s a team challenge, too. Apparently art is the new Quidditch.
This week, we commence with some shots of our artistes at home, followed by another Bravo tradition: an absurdly early wake-up! This is a classic Bravo tradition in which the host/mentor, in our case, Simon, comes over to whatever West Elm palace the reality show competitors happen to be staying in, and awaken them obscenely early to take them to their next hellish challenge.
This week’s Work of Art begins with a staple of Bravo reality competition shows: children and foreboding music. Ah yes, this is the week our artistes must show that they can handle the youngins. But then, another surprise! OMG IT’S CARRIE BRADSHAW. She gives them their challenge: the artists have to make a piece complimenting work of the children brought in. And so the exploitation of children begins.
This week’s Work of Art begins with the arrival of our intrepid artistes at the Phillips de Prury auction house. They follow a line of tin cans until low and behold! A mountain of tin cans! Next to one Andy Warol’s soup can paintings! Guess what kids, it’s time for a Pop art challenge!
Bravo’s massively entertaining (at least to us) Work of Art is back! Or at least it came back last week. Apologies for the lack of a recap; we were too distracted by Sexy Ugo to write anything down. But since he was eliminated, it’s no longer an issue! We can focus on the art! And Jerry Saltz fondling wooden testicles!
The Emerging Artists Fellowship Exhibition at the Socrates Sculpture Park in Long Island City is certainly worth the trek to Queens. The whimsical sculpture show, which launches a yearlong celebration of the park’s 25anniversary, was an excellent showcase for young talent. The diverse sculptures work in congress with the amazing view of Manhattan’s skyline to create an art viewing experience that is at once soothing and sublime.
We last posted on Ai Weiwei with news of his associate’s heart attack. Since his release, news of the artist has significantly slowed but he’s not out of the woods yet. Ai faces charges of mass tax evasion, and the normally vocal artist has remained disturbingly quiet Here’s an update on what’s been going on since our last post.
Art21 has launched a new documentary series. Called New York Close Up, the series, according to Art21’s informative website, “provides an intimate look at the next wave of artists- artists close up.” Clearly they’ve set the bar on clever titles. New York Close Up launched with a party at the Ace Hotel’s Liberty Hall last Thursday. While not as nice as fellow intern’s assignment at The Standard (screw you, Alex), it was still a fairly fancy party filled with very attractive people sipping very expensive drinks. I brought “a photographer” aka my friend Laura, in order to avoid standing by myself not talking to anyone. Instead, we stood together and didn’t talk to anyone. After a half hour-long search for one of the overworked waitresses, we were finally able to order some nasty raspberry Stoli for eleven bucks each. The lack of open bar was devastating.