We’ve hop-skipped-and-jumped around this week, leaping off cultural juggernauts to cultural lows with some harmless light entertainment in between. I expected this week to be more about the art fairs New York had last weekend, but I was underwhelmed by a lot of what I saw and there’ll be no dearth of opinions elsewhere, I’m sure.
Peak: Shakespeare, who’s apparently a babe
Trough: Paying for ersatz art of yourself. No one has yet risen to my bait of ‘why, in this post-Warhol age, the things I mentioned are not art?’ Hint: I do believe there is a reason why.
Middling organisms of cultural evolution: Noel Coward singing and my guilty pleasure reads, art heist books. Suggestions welcome.