Thanks, I’m Just Looking
The New York art fairs, the worst of the Venice Biennale, Taryn Simon’s incomplete detective story, and Damien Hirst’s gay hole.
During the press preview for the Armory Show, a curator and I engaged in a conversation. I complimented the curator on their appearance, to which they responded that they had been preoccupied with money and lifting weights. When I inquired about their well-being, the curator clarified that they were actually "obsessed with RUNNING."
On my way back to the office, I noticed the New Museum on the Lower East Side, which had recently opened a major Arthur Jafa retrospective. Outside, a group of drug addicts was seen flailing in and out of consciousness near the sleek glass expansion of the museum. One addict was rolling on the sidewalk in slow motion, wailing breathlessly while holding an extinguished cigarette.
Another was piled on a stoop, waving away an imaginary fly. A third was frozen in place, hunched over a dirty suitcase. Despite the autumn winds, the leaves had not yet fallen from the trees. The Harlem River and the Manhattan skyline stood out beautifully, with the moon appearing split in half. A woman appeared to be on the verge of crying while reading Flannery O'Connor.
A photographer was following a couple, who smiled back at the camera. A store was selling a jacket embroidered with the motivational message "Don't be a little bitch." When asked if they would like to try it on, the woman behind the cash register said, "No, thanks. I'm just looking."
Written by urgent.news from Hyperallergic's reporting — not their text. Machine-written — may contain errors; check the original before relying on it.
