In a small ad in The New Yorker, an art gallery in Manhattan asks,
“Are you thinking about acquiring important American paintings?”
Actually, I am. A nice Winslow Homer seascape would be perfect over my new sofa.
And a Jasper Johns collage would brighten up my home office. I’m certainly
not interested in unimportant paintings. Art is an investment, as valuable as land.
Nobody’s making any new Matisses, right? OK, he’s French, but you know
what I mean.
No. What’s on my mind is how to pay the rent this month. That’s why
I’m reading the magazine at the library. The cartoons make me laugh, so I
can forget my troubles for a few moments. The closest I’m going to get to
an important American painting is free first Fridays at the museum.
Dream on. “Important” is artspeak for “expensive” and I’ve
got better things to do with my money than to spend it on colored pigments on canvas.
Especially stuff that looks like graffiti or schoolkid scribbles. And who’s
that guy with big squares of color? Millions of bucks. What a racket.
art auction
record-setting prices
what would Eakins say?
Bio:
Pat Tompkins
