I must have graduated to sigm cum laude of the geek world.
I’m in Paris.
It’s a beautiful day.
I’m sitting in a coffee shop, Coffee and Friends, writing in my blog.
There’s an art market down below, a gathering of starving artists pitching their creations to those who walk by. There’s a reason why many of them are starving. It’s really sad to see the horrible state of contemporary art in Paris. Walking down the aisles, you will see derivatives of everyone and very few original pieces. Those that are original are just bad!
There seems to be a belief in Paris that anything that consists of paint or pencil on paper is worth selling. Sketches are like waffles and children. You should throw away the first one or two. Those are just for warming up. Ok, the first waffle can be eaten, it just may not look pretty.
But in Paris, these somehow end up on sale in markets. And for god sakes, do something with a nude woman and you’ve got a gold mine. I walked by one stand of photographs with close-up shots of women’s parts. There was an enormous, glossy, full color, saturated, shallow-depth-of-field monstrosity of pubic hair. Now, I’m not prude, give me Andres Serano, Sally Mann, or Robert Mapplethorpe, but garbage is garbage. It takes more effort, not less, to create an interesting nude photograph.
After walking around, I did find a few stands that were interesting. There was a set of very nice charcoal still-lifes and the photographs of Ben Gamth? I can’t read his signature very well, so forgive my destruction of the name. I purchased a small print of a chicken at his friend’s house near Normandy. His use of cross-processing, full-frame negatives, and odd perspectives were right up my alley.
Maybe I should shut up and actually exhibit my work again. Put up or shut up, they say. Feel the wrath of tourists walking by and saying “uggh, red pubic hair, again?!!?”