big essay
Parisian baby clothes, dumb phone fantasies
Ironic given the context, but it’s a sign of a thriving art community that my phone exploded with people wanting to discuss a 19-page article about “New York Real Estate and the Ruin of American Art” by the artist Josh Klein. I agree with the premise—it’s unimpeachable—that New York City rents are weighing the culture down. Even on a conversational level. I now spend a few months out of the United States each year, and the main difference is that you don’t have to talk about money anywhere else. I thought that was a cliche. But when I’m getting a drink in the city, it permeates the chatter.
The article asks good questions: How hard is it to run a gallery? (Expensive, especially if you’re in Tribeca and actually offer health insurance.) Why is no one making sculptures anymore? (The storage fees. The installation fees. The issue with selling it.) What’s going on with the current collector class? Is Gavin Brown right that the experimental collectors have been priced out? (I will say that the wealthiest collector I know personally is trying to get rid of everything and collect bespoke furniture. She regrets getting “too into woke.” Woof!) How much are dumb rich white kids perverting the scope of what can be shown in institutional spaces? Klein argues they’ve kept, for example, art that meaningfully addresses ongoing US wars out of institutions. (This one seems a touch more dubious, but I liked his question anyway: How many artists know someone who served in Iraq or Afghanistan?) There’s of course things to nitpick. The article relies on the idea that there aren’t many artists making art full-time who are not supported by their parents. Maybe it’s just my scene and my friends, but I know plenty. I don’t agree that everyone should move to Philadelphia, as the conclusion states, but I agree that moving somewhere else could help. My vote is London, just given the artists I know in London, who seem to be operating in a very 2006 way. (No money? Almost erudite pathways through life.) Anyway, even though I barely participate in it, I find the art world more cohesive and more interesting than the literary world — the contours make more sense to me, there’s actual things at stake. And it’s nice to see it react to things as a mass. Even a random essay in October.
(If you like this sort of thing, read Elizabeth Gumport on Chris Kraus on the LA art scene from 2012.)
Links
Arabic translator Yasmine Seale texted me that she found a “Kimono polaire” for her newborn baby at Sipetit, in Paris. “A little shop off the Place des Vosges. The fleece kimonos come in a range of subtle colors (including ‘Nile green’ and ‘dawn’) and are made right in the shop by Sophie, who has been running it since the 1980s.” Babies deserve Parisian garments, I think we can all agree.
“My Japanese got so good really fast.” Jeremy O. Harris recommends prison time.
