Was it somehow pre-negated; there never was a clear "star" in the nineties; movies perhaps (pulp fiction) and technology taking precedence. Basquiat and others dead; there never was one to pose impossible questions or grab the eye of the Media with the abtucness or Pollack or Andy. Maybe, there was no art?
WALSO SMITH 23
Wayne and Babet were at the end of the bar working on something; each had a little Dutch boy cap on so they looked like he famous Fiarucci decal from back when punk was high fashion. I said so but they weren’t impressed; I got a drink from Eleanor. The wall was covered with a menagerie of art – open call. Some one took bent rusty nails seriously; a later body bursing in red on canvas. Discarded architectural drawing with a giant Pollack like scrawl over them a neo-renaissance s&m drawing in primary colors that I knew was Bobbie’s, the drummer’s work. Finally a little cartoon 2 year old in diapers standing year old in a frame of golden repeating arrows. “That one your’s Wayne.” “Uh-hu” he said with disinterest:” I call it birth of knowledge.” He’d sort of moved some other art out of the way. And, without missing a beat:”Babet and her room mate are having a party” he slid over an invitation: a heart with a devils tail and a king’s crown.” “Where is it?” “A loft on Stanton street…gonna have a show of Bobbie's art.” “Uh-hu” she said. “oh.”
WALSO SMITH 23
Wayne and Babet were at the end of the bar working on something; each had a little Dutch boy cap on so they looked like he famous Fiarucci decal from back when punk was high fashion. I said so but they weren’t impressed; I got a drink from Eleanor. The wall was covered with a menagerie of art – open call. Some one took bent rusty nails seriously; a later body bursing in red on canvas. Discarded architectural drawing with a giant Pollack like scrawl over them a neo-renaissance s&m drawing in primary colors that I knew was Bobbie’s, the drummer’s work. Finally a little cartoon 2 year old in diapers standing year old in a frame of golden repeating arrows. “That one your’s Wayne.” “Uh-hu” he said with disinterest:” I call it birth of knowledge.” He’d sort of moved some other art out of the way. And, without missing a beat:”Babet and her room mate are having a party” he slid over an invitation: a heart with a devils tail and a king’s crown.” “Where is it?” “A loft on Stanton street…gonna have a show of Bobbie's art.” “Uh-hu” she said. “oh.”
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