In the early-1980s, New York galleries were full of critical thinkers, bohemians and socialites who enjoyed chatting-up Andy Warhol, Jay McInerney and Tama Janowitz. Media mogul Si Newhouse observed from a far corner in the gallery. Art cliques knew each other and hung out at places like One University Place. They had drinks and consumed baked porgies, while receiving an occasional backstabbing from Chelsea Hotel resident, poet Rene Ricard.
Today is different. Manhattan galleries moved back downtown and percolate away in their own blissful state. From gallery to gallery, the contemporary scene embraces different viewpoints. Despite varied perspectives—younger collectors use online sources and social media—the core business model of buying and selling art remains unchanged. Wealth defines the market. While circumstances evolve, the need for growth and support stays constant, shaping our understanding of the art world.
A typical gallery opening has a sizable amount of multi-cultural youthful clientele dressed in fashionable attire. We see Botox, trendy eyeglasses, and every brand of cosmetics that Sephora has to offer. Investors on the prowl in epic proportions, look for the next big thing, ready to flip and expand personal collections.
Heads wobble back and forth in an attempt to examine walls and floors covered with artwork. Glib remarks verge on the absurd. Smiling is rare. One could argue there’s too much anxiety. Barbie dolls pout and gaze with sunken Ozempic jowls. Pay no attention to an ex-model in the middle of the gallery holding a teacup Yorkie puppy in a handbag on the phone looking for a pet-friendly restaurant. She ditched her career to sell instant oatmeal. Older gallery patrons scratch their heads. They’re more excited over the complimentary gift cooler for AARP membership members. Everybody in the pool.
Before bananas were taped to walls, artistic visions explored a spectrum full of isms: Impressionism, Surrealism, Cubism, etc. The early-20th century saw work produced in shock and anger that forecasted the coming horrors of war. Then, Abstract Expressionism spilled paint everywhere. As time progressed, the slow decline of out-of-work artists wearing threadbare Levi’s with dogs in tow became rarer sights. Although one might recall the early look of unwashed Burning Man days as a cultural equivalent.
People despise the artists, critics, and art lovers in the “New York or Nowhere” crowd. The United States mainland wants to make sure smug New Yorkers stay put and not pollute other states. These hunters and collectors are ruthless. It comes as no surprise; the system operates like the ocean’s floating Great Pacific Garbage Patch made entirely of garbage and plastic about the size of Texas with its own ecosystem. It’s just sitting there, and you can’t do much about it.
Considering the current state of affairs; with numerous successes and shortcomings in healthcare and technology, the art world is finicky and subject to unexpected shifts. Technology needs creativity, but technology is often exaggerated and driven by economic interests.
A mass culture experience depends on the time and place in which it was made. As buyers move to the best seats in the house at multi-million-dollar art auctions, an invisible art “Cone of Silence” encourages one “not” to critique or discuss business matters. Not everyone feels this way. You are free to go, wear and do what you like. To form your own opinion, visit a museum or gallery for your research.
Some of today’s creative wildcats embrace this new kind of mainstream exclusivity with its hefty admission price tag. Enjoy the high-definition, digital displays in immersive experiences built to impress, like the hypnotic Los Vegas Sphere. Twofold techno has us walking on water and thin ice.
There’s the famous “plastics” scene in 1967’s The Graduate where Dustin Hoffman’s character Benjamin stood by a swimming pool worried about his future and Mr. McGuire offers him advice.
One of the earliest purely synthetic plastics was introduced in 1907, the arrival of Bakelite. Then along came acrylic paints, which dried quickly and produced vibrant colors, plus a variety of other artist supplies made of polymers. Their use became popular as an artists’ favorite in the 1960s. Plastic hasn’t existed for very long.
Among other praises, Frank Zappa is often described as “clairvoyant.” In 1967, his band The Mothers of Invention took note with “You are. Your foot. Your hair. Your nose. Your arms. You eat. You suck. You love. You are. Your being is... you’re Plastic People.” According to recent findings, our brains contain microplastics. We now truly are plastic people. Is this what’s keeping us from being nice and thinking properly?