My friend Laverne was back in Cyprus for some work and of course she came and stayed with me. On Saturday night we arranged to meet up with Cake. Cake told us to meet her in a fancy-shmancy art gallery in the city centre. So we met her at the renaissance paintings, scaring the people who had more flesh than clothes on display and were biting into apples in an inviting manner. ‘It’s art’ she explained to us, trying to excuse the fact that she was mesmerized by the painting of the man covered only in fruit and holding a giant banana.
‘Would you like some wine?’ asked the gallery owner, who we shall call Mr. Van Gogh Away. ‘Here let me show you around the gallery’ he said to us as if we were art connoisseurs about to spend our lifesavings (of €9.56) on fine art. I don’t know how he didn’t realise that we were there only because Cake told us to. But we are polite so we obliged. The next thing we knew, we were on the roof, sipping wine and listening to outlandish stories about his life in Knightsbridge (a fancy-shmancy place in London; that is dropped into a conversation to impress).
And so begin his attempts to let us know that he is someone. ‘Yes and I am friend with Baroness Von Thurenbergen of the House of Lower Saxony… and I went to school with James Taylor III. You know James Taylor III. JT? The Thuuurd???’ he repeated after our blank stares. We all nodded and smiled fearfully having no idea who he was talking about. The only JT I know is Justin Timberlake. The singer. Not the third.
And he continued ‘… that’s when I moved in with Maria Consuelo de Gracias Rodrigues of Argentina and her Indian husband, the grandson of the Maharaja of Madras in southern India… and I went hot air balloon riding with the cousin of King Carlos of Spain twice removed, oh we had a jolly good time’. Jolly good time? This guy is from the mountains of Cyprus and he is talking to me as if he is European royalty?
After a while of name dropping Cake asked him ‘do you buy the art? Does this art belong you?’ and he replied by saying in a husky, out-of-breath voice, ‘no dearest child, art does not belong to me, it belong to everyone. To you. To me. To society.’*
Oh yeah? Well then please explain to me why Damien Hurst is making millions during the credit crunch by selling to private investors. Why then tramps do not own art? Is it because they have no where to store it? And if art belong to society as a whole, then why haven’t I got a Klimt original hanging up in my dining room?
Yet… it got better.
Cake for some reason falls in love with, not a piece of art, but a road sign. It was an arrow pointing straight ahead. She liked it that much that she made us take a photo of herself holding it. Which in most cases would seem ridiculous but that night, it was rather fitting. Cake likes it that much however that she made Laverne ask the man in she could have it.
‘Why? What for?’ he asked. ‘Cake just likes it’ Laverne said, ‘is there any use for it?’ she continued. ‘No, no use for it. I don’t even know what it is doing there.’ So then the man turned to Cake and said ‘if you like it that much come back again with her husband and she can have it.’ Cake smiled politely. Laverne grinned. I was scandalised.
Let me get this straight. Apparently art belongs to everyone but a road sign that my taxes paid for, that is not used and is on his roof is private property? Usually I would advocate stealing it (I did indirectly pay for it with my taxes). But since we already asked for it, we couldn’t take it, as he would realise that we took it. Although it’s not like we would be making off with a five metre painting of the birth of Venus, painted in acrylics. I mean what charges would be press? They took a road sign from me that was on my roof?
The verbal mayhem ensued…
‘… and that’s because I live in Lesvos and we all know what Lesvos is known for’ explained Laverne.
‘I see, and so are you inclined towards women?’ asked Van Gogh Away.
‘No’ said Laverne politely ‘I have a boyfriend.’
WTF? You don’t ask people you met literally 15 minutes and a bottle of wine ago questions like that. No matter how liberal you are (and you better be if you read this blog) you still maintain some distance.
After another 15 minutes Van Gogh Away said 'allow me to get my great-great-grandfather who is sitting downstairs to play you a tune on his violin.’ Now, I don’t know about you, but I hate private shows of entertainment (but not when they are inside the bedroom). For me, there is nothing more uncomfortable than having to listen to a violinist, play a ditty for you, while you smile and look interest and not embarrassed and try not to laugh. Communicating with our eyes when Van Gogh Away’s back was to us, we agreed that we did not want to stay there to hear a tune.
BabyBusinessMan: We’d love to say but we have to go.
Van Gogh Away: Go?
BBM: Yes, we have reservations
VGA: Where?
BBM: In Restaurant Petite Paris (quick thinking)
VGA: With whom?
BBM: With a friend from Egypt
VGA: When?
BBM: Now.
VGA: They do food there?
BBM. YES!
VGA: Oh well I guess they do. Fine then! GO!
Now, if I wasn’t scandalised before, now I was. What were these questions? How dare anyone ask you these things? But if you’re being showered with free wine and someone is actually polite (albeit passive-aggressively rude) then you answer these questions. Of course Laverne would never criticise and Cake couldn’t be bothered to. But I was shocked. The name dropping? The pretence? The intrusion? But I will admit one thing. The wine was excellent. Maybe he did own a vineyard in Tuscany that Giuseppe di Garda gave him as a present for writing the most flattering poem in honour of his mother. There might just be some truth in it all…
*I’m not going to pretend I know a lot about art. But I believe that the only art that belongs to society is by Banksy. Now that is art. And it’s for society.
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