Van Gogh’s ear. Schnabel’s head.

I’ve got a ton of art to post. Not all of it is good, but it’s all interesting. That’s where the rubber meets the road. Here’s a double-dip.

Elmgreen & Dragset
Van Gogh’s Ear


Another large-scale public piece at Rockefeller Center. It’s a 30′ upended swimming pool. It works best if you don’t know it’s there. You turn a corner and are met with this displaced object. It’s comical.


I’m not sure how they arrived at the title. Does it look like an ear? Elmgreen & Dragset’s previous installation was Project Marfa, a Prada store located in the middle of the desert in Texas. Equally pointless. Nice contrast and angels.


This errie giant is standing sentinel at the Whitney. It seems as pointless as the previous piece but I like it.


Urs Fischer
Standing Julian
Wax, pigment, steel and wicks

It includes wicks because it’s a candle. This is a wax statue of Fischer’s friend, fellow artist Julian Schnabel. The idea is that the wicks are lit each morning when the museum opens. It’ll burn down and be discarded. There are two wicks; one is on his shoulder.


The clothing is made of steel but passes convincingly as cloth.


The cast of Schnabel is a remarkable likeness. The mold can be repurposed. Fisher should create an army of Schnabel candles. He can sell them at Pier 1 Imports.


The second wick is inside his head. I wonder how long this has been burning?




May 18, 1992

I called Lucy and accidentally slurred a couple of words. She asked me if I was drunk and I decided to run with it and told her yes, I was. I said I had a few glasses of wine and pretend to be drunk. I continued to slur a word every now and then and say things I’d never say sober. I occasionally threw in a cuss word.

I told her I thought she should change her mind about dating me. She said she’s a nightmare to date and she’d only make me miserable in the end. That’s probably the best piece of free advice I’ve received in a long time. I sure would like to see her naked, though. I occasionally think she’s ready to crack and surrender herself to me but then I look in her eyes and I see there’s nothing there. Do you know how sometimes a girl will look right inside of you and give you a soulful, sorrowful look that tells you everything you need to know? I get the opposite from Lucy. One look and I can tell she feels nothing for me.

She asked me to come over a couple of times during the course of the conversation. I told her Kat was going to Atlantic City over Memorial Day and that I’ll be staying in her condo in Long Beach in her absence. She stamped her foot and wanted to know why I hadn’t invited her along. Is she really that stupid?

On Saturday I had comps to a Broadway show, “A Small Family Business.” It’s by Alan Ayckbourn, who’s one of my favs. I met Maureen at the theater but once we got there we decided we’d rather see something lowbrow. We tried to give the tickets away but had a hell of a time. People in New York are so full of suspicion. Nobody wanted them. We were on our fourth couple when I finally thrust them into a guy’s hand and said if he and his girlfriend didn’t want them, they should pass them on to someone else but to NOT THROW THEM OUT.

We ended up seeing “Wayne’s World” in a disgusting Times Square theater that I wouldn’t bring mom into. It smelled like cats sprayed all the seats. The plaster was cracking and there were big holes in the ceiling. It smelled bad and looked worse. [Note: this is what pre-gentrified Times Square was like. I don’t miss it.] Sinéad O’Connor sat in front of us. She was with a gigantic bodyguard.

The movie was stupid, just like everyone said, and also very amusing, just like everyone said. We ate pizza and ice cream before the show and bought popcorn at the theater, which tasted like cat urine. We were kind of sick afterwards. I got home in time to see Geraldo Rivera box Frank Stallone on Howard Stern’s TV show. Geraldo got a proper ass-whopping. His protective headgear wasn’t on secure so when Stallone punched him, it would slip a bit and he couldn’t see. Hilarious.

I’m reading a book of essays by David Mamet. He says it’s no longer a thrill to see his words in print or spoken on the stage or screen. What a dick. Even if you felt that way, why would you say such a thing?

The storm that ate Manhattan. I took these from my office window on Thursday at 4:00. This entire sequence took 30 minutes.