If u are 1 artist look around: they're the same all over the world!
Gozzy à pois
She is morbidly interested in gossip on the artists' lives more than in their works. She founded Art&Gossip, a magazine that photographs the loves and betrayals of the art stars, the lobbies, the spicy behind-the-scenes action. With her friend Paparazza, Gozzy organizes lively soirées devoted to tittle-tattle and backbiting.
She loves art à pois.
A man of sterling character, rigorous, granitic. Dressed in black, he looks straight stiff and straight as a pole. The only thing I like about 0.2 is his superfast motorized skateboard. When he gets on he seems like an Easter Island statue wandering around the museums.
Tears, for 0.2, are an obscene spectacle, smut of paraded emotivity, showy lack of self-control. Whenever he sees people crying he pounces on his victims with his skateboard and cancels every single tear with dry, precise, surgical thrusts of his tongue as if he wanted to jerk the tears off their face.
If he sees a fine picture he wets his pants. He picks his nose during performances. If you frequent the shows of underground artists you will certainly have seen him, like a picachu lost in the crowd of visitors, with his big yellow sweaty belly hanging over low-waisted jeans. He speaks loudly while he drinks the usual drink and spits the olive aiming at his navel.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhSPsjnS7xc
A sign neither of wisdom nor premature graying, W.P.'s mop of white hair is nothing but an emblem of surrender, #1 pale rag exhibited to placate the enemy attack. W.P. has given up, he's said a definitive yes to all contemporary art. He accepts every new current imposed by the system of international art without the slightest reserve.
And yet one day, during a conference at the university, while his friend Jep-Professor was praising J.K.'s paintings, I saw him pretend to cough and I heard - just just barely - an almost imperceptible - nooooo - resonate in the hall.
******* regally strides down the red carpet that accompanies him everywhere like a tapis roulant. To see him walk with his head held high, with that grimace so collet montè, reminds us of certain Tiepolo frescoes where all you see of the faces are the holes of the nose. He rarely appears at the balcony of his loft to address the populace.
The Fössi case
Fössi too much! He invents a new art movement every week. Fössi has just got to calm down. Too many ephemeral enthusiasms. He wants to find the new genius of art, and so we see him continually organizing new shows, writing ponderous catalogues on a ravenous binge of unrestrained accumulation. Inevitably due to haste and distraction he makes mistakes and the balance in the end is negative. So he falls into depression. A pity because he's goooood. If he tries hard he can make it. Everyone's talking about it. Fössi has become #1 case.
They say he is a great intellectual with one single deficiency: due to impaired sight he recognizes only the angles of the figures. In the paintings 360° particularly appreciates the precision of the right angles of the frame. To measure them he keeps in his pocket a collection of goniometers, which he also uses in the pursuit of his idea of cataloguing all the angles of art.
What does Cristiano Malgioglio's song "Sbucciami" have to do with contemporary art? R u kidding - il Michele (curator) sings it 2 us
Liar. She omits deliberately lots of news on the system of art. An intelligence devoted to mixing people up by manipulating information. Her favorite interlocutors are Councilors for the Arts, sports reporters, PR people. People who can't tell when she's bullshitting them. With a silencer it's easy to bump artists off. She knows this very well. She has a company specialized in museum furnishings.
Happy or sad? Just by looking at her you really can't tell. Some day I'd like to decipher that strange expression of hers. Melancholy cheerfulness? Happy disappointment? The artists Kappa-gnacca likes are equally indefinable, unplaceable, impossible. She tells enigmatic jokes that you understand with a bitter smile only years later.
Under his raincoat he keeps (carefully catalogued) the souvenir photos of his years as a militant critic. He was young then, he still believed in art. If someone reproaches him for his current lack of ideas, Nostalghia goes all atremble and opens his raincoat displaying his glorious past. Silence falls all around and he as a sign of triumph emits a counter-tenor top note. A bit hoarse >>> we must admit.
Piero the Swapper
Since artists have become stars just like musicians, Swapper can no longer figure out who does what. He confuses the New Romantics with Carlo Maria Mariani, Hard Rock with Art Brut. Gutai is not a Manga character..."Paragraphs e Sentences" are not Dogma... Someone needs to tell him that Raffaella Carrà is 1 Italian TV showgirl, not 1 video artist!
With her long black whiskers like a Chinese mandarin, Moustakibaby pretends to be the art critic of the "Loveno" cultural center in Venice Beach, but in fact she traffics artworks between Russia and Japan. If an artist of real talent sets foot in her cultural center, Moustakibaby's reaction is quite strange >>> her whiskers stand on end and she meows undecipherable phrases as she dashes away scattering rusty tacks in her wake.
It is easy to portray PERMANENT 900. Just scribble a bush of walking hair, a permanent inflated by a first-rate hairdresser. Above the imposing mane we pencil in a little pipe. Like a crooked little smokestack. For her the glorious century of modern art will never come to an end, it is a PERMANENT reality. When the smokestack on her head puffs a tuft of hair it is an unequivocal signal that PERMANENT 900 has had 1 (old) idea.
Madame Fairy? She is a member of that little group (gnomes, elves) that materializes itself only at the university. She flits light as a butterfly through the classrooms alighting on the professorial chair with a sigh. She takes her seat conjuring up dream landscapes. She tells of fabulous journeys, beautiful things that happen far far away. Outside the university Fairy does not exist.
" " never does anything for "nothing". He writes well but not "well", sometimes he writes badly, but not "badly". "That" "which" "he says" he "often" "says again" in " ".
Dazed expression. Schoolboy's uniform. Sugar skull (toy design) in his hand. Cicci-Impacci is an artist and art critic. He lives continually tormented by a thousand Hamletic doubts on contemporary art. And he can't hold himself back, he speaks about his uncertainties with everyone. Is it better to do graffiti on walls or exhibit in a gallery? Underground or museums? Is it right to play the whore with the first art collector who comes along? Cicci-Impacci is thinking hard.