I’ve always been curious about the fame and attention the Turner prize attracts (or used to attract) and how some of the winners are catapulted into the money making stratosphere. Which to me, no lover of contemporary art, seems strange. Exactly why would anyone want to pay vast sums of money for an artwork that consists of a dead shark? Especially when the poor shark decayed so much, it had to be replaced. Yes, they had to catch another shark to go into the tank.
Anyway, this video explains how some of the artists who won the prize got to swim laps in pools filled with money. I wish I had thought of something like, “My Bed”.
Art popularity (or curation at least) had me stumped this last weekend after wandering the halls of the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery in New Plymouth. Two of the main installations were apparently commentary on the art gallery itself. Really? Wasn’t there anything, anything in the world more important to talk about than yourselves? Or was this just a case of major suck-up to the curator? I might have forgiven them if they were at least interesting to experience, but they were arse. It is times like these when I’m happy to be a philistine.
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