The other day at Sotheby’s billionaire playground, cubicle artist Banksy self-destructed his art as soon as it sold for a million dollars to an idiot. That crazy Banksy showing the world what art is and is not while he improves his brand tenfold and private planes still land in his plan. What a clever outlaw! To be made by the finance mob and then laugh at your makers, fooling them to impress those whom you think you were once like, long ago, as a younger man, when time did not exist, either for future peasant painters or deep-pocket dilettantes.
This photo is art and the person painting in the photo is an artist. Sothebys and Banksy are not art and artist.
I want to bundle up in my Salvation Army coat and walk beneath the gray skies of a Moscow autumn. I’ll stop across the river and have a smoke with Ulanova and Stepanov, and then a coffee somewhere, and a soup on the stove for dinner. We made some paintings and we talked about them, and other things.
Banksy and Sothebys are counterfeit. The Rupert Murdochs of art banking and media. Antithesis of art.
Art is dead! Long live art!