A little over month ago I finally moved into my new apartment in Manhattan. Since then I've been busily on the search for new art to hang on my blank walls, knowing that if I stare at that "Benjamin Moore Simply White" surface much longer I'll eventually snap, cover the entire studio in blackboard paint and immediately start scrawling feverish dreams that make a Henry Darger retrospective look like Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
Thus, last week I found myself perusing some paintings at an upscale produce shop on the Upper East Side--as the Medicis no doubt did before me--when I noticed a price tag exclaiming, in megaphone font, "SALE! ONE WEEK ONLY! $185!" It already being Wednesday, I quickly looked at the attached painting, only to first notice a small, metal plaque screwed to the bottom of its wooden frame.
It read, simply, "Portrait, Edwardian Monkey."
And sure enough, the plaque did not lie. The painting was in fact an in-studio portrait of a seated monkey, circa 1910. The subject was smartly attired in a Norfolk jacket, checkered cap, tasteful black tie, crisp white linen shirt and an onyx walking stick. On a small pedestal was placed a white and pink Chinese vase, filled with a cross-sampling of British orchids. A pipe was held firmly, but not tightly, in a gloved hand. The monkey acknowledged this viewer with little to no regard, as if I just happened to fall inadvertently within his line of sight only to be soon dismissed for a smudge on the wall, a chip in a teacup or the grout between tiles.
As I studied "Portrait, Edwardian Monkey," with a critical eye for both subject matter and execution, a single yet persistent question eventually came to mind--Exactly what is the going rate for crap? Is $185 for "Portrait, Edwardian Monkey" a good deal? Is it a steal? Will I be kicking myself hard this week when I return to said produce shop only to find the painting is once more retailing for its standard six-figure price?
All I know is, if that plaque had read, "Self-Portrait, Edwardian Monkey" that shit would be hanging in my apartment as we speak.
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4 comments:
There's a restaurant here in town whose walls are covered with monkey-themed art. (Yes, there's an obvious joke here. Go ahead and make it - I'll wait.) Decorating one's apartment in monkey-themed artwork is probably a superior impress-the-date strategy - well, superior to a Franklin Pierce -themed apartment, anyway.
Because I chose the name "Another Monkey" for my (first) blog, all my friends have decided I have a monkey fetish, and I have been showered with hundreds of monkey figurines, plush monkeys, monkey pictures, and even a set of monkey bedsheets. Talk about impressing a date! Now where am I going to put all my Star Wars stuff?
("Another Monkey" refers to the famous monkeys-and-typewriters comment, and the recent rejoinder that the internet has proved that the previous statement is not true.)
Monkeys! I would have bought it. Go back!
Glad to find you on the web again. I was hoping you would resurface! Is that creepy?
I would totally buy it and hang it in my sister's room, because it sounds terrifying.
After she beat me with it, I'd give it to somebody I don't care for.
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