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03/09/2010: "The Armory Show 2010"
Something interesting happened on my way to Armory Show 2010. It has nothing to do with art ... or maybe it does.
I was riding the #6 train on my way to Grand Central where I had to stop at my hotel, 70 Park Avenue. There was a Hispanic homeless man who was confined to a wheelchair a few feet away from where I was sitting. He was heavyset, had graying hair and was wearing a filthy, gray Old Navy sweatshirt with black pants. On either side of his wheelchair arm rests, he had several cups stacked for donations. He also had several junk bags and strings of whatnots tied to the back of his chair. In his right hand, he held a harmonica that looked like he found it on the street. Every thirty seconds or so, the man raised the harmonica to his mouth, blew a stunningly sour note and sang a few bars of a high pitched tune in Spanish. It was one of those tunes that would make any dog tilt its head in wonder ... or perhaps horror.
As this man squealed, a woman sitting next to me said to her little girl, "See! That's why you should work hard, go to school and save your money so that you can take care of yourself when you get old!" She also told her daughter, "You have to do it yourself because no one else will care!"
Right after the woman spoke, people on the crowded train started putting money in the man's cups. Some people dropped loose change, while others put in a few dollars a pop. Hold that thought ...
FAST FORWARD
I'm walking up and down the aisles of the pristine, genteel Armory Show Modern at Pier 92. The atmosphere is calm and subdued. The art is what one might expect at these international fairs ... tasteful and elegant, but not too challenging and positioned to appeal to the mass crowd that has shown up on this Saturday.
I notice that the crowd here is more middle-aged to senior-ish and Euro-types are in full supply. I also spot a few couples toting babies in those militant strollers. By the way, not for nothin', but are art fairs the place for babies in strollers? I totally support exposing kids to art early on, however, little kids should be taken to art museums where the environment is more controlled and kid-friendly. Art fairs are always so crowded and like a rat race. I'm always amazed that kids don't get mowed down in that circus like atmosphere. What are these parents thinking?
Anyway, I saw numerous things that I loved, but of course, had not a snowball's chance in hell of ever affording. Much of it was photography. Perhaps I'm in my gritty realism period. I loved Michael Eastman's huge, digital c-prints of elegant, decaying architectural interiors. I was also drawn to Nathalia Edenmont's c-prints, one depicting a child strapped into an electric chair (yikes!) and the other, titled "Self Portrait," showed a young, red headed girl sitting in front of a red headed woman who is lying down and presumably dead. Was this a statement on the difficult span of life? Hmm.
There was so much to see. I especially liked the Armory Show on the Pier 94 side. The contemporary stuff by living artists. It was jam packed! You could barely move, let alone see the art. Here's a tip. Try to avoid attending a big art fair on a Saturday. Everybody and their grandmother is there. It's unreal, but also nice to know that there lots of other people who share my passion for contemporary art.
A quick story. As I approached a Tracey Emin installation, I noticed a crowd of people gathered and taking photos. Turns out that Emin's pink, neon-lighted wall sign, "I Keep Believing In You," had attracted a bunch of ladybugs that were buzzing all around it. Many of the onlookers actually thought the bugs were part of the installation. The upset dealer fanned away in vain at the ladybugs. Seconds later, two maintenance guys showed up with rags and a vacuum cleaner to address the situation. Ladybugs normally have a great public image, but not when they mess with Tracey Emin.
As usual at art fairs, many of the dealers here looked exasperated. Few people were actually there to buy because who could afford anything? This one little exchange basically sums up most of the conversations I overheard ...
Visitor: "How much is that?"
Dealer: "130."
Visitor: "130-thousand?"
Dealer: "That's right."
I've said it before and I'll say it again. Yes, art fairs are about art, but they're mainly about money. Yes, art is in the foreground, but it's actually the backdrop. Money makes everything here go. If you don't have it, all you can do is salivate like one of those poor, little Charles Dickens kids who stare through the bake shop window with dirt on their faces hoping for a crumb of bread.
Which brings me to my point. Even though that homeless guy on the subway and art dealers have different realities, they're still in the same boat. Both are awaiting their sugardaddy, if you will. Both are waiting for their ship to come in. Both have to convince people to open their wallets and part with something they hold very dear. Yes, it's all about the money.
REWIND
As the train arrived at Grand Central, I stood up and took a dollar out of my wallet and asked the guy standing in front of me to put it in the homeless guy's cup. "Oh! That's so nice!" said a woman who had just sat down on the other side of me. "Were you talking with him earlier?" she asked.
"No," I replied. "But I think we all know his story," I said as I got off the train.
