Sunday, December 1, 2013


The illusion of election is not something unique to artists - most religions contain a clause to that effect - but my good friend Currado Malaspina has taken this fantasy to an alpine extreme. His business card for example is a glossy self-portrait with the caption "Currado Malaspina: présenter une demande à Google."

That such a search would likely yield about two dozen pages of results should not in any way elevate the Internet into some sort of arbiter of high-cultural currency. Think for example of searching the name Lorena Bobbitt or the phrase "recipes with frozen vegetables" and you will see my point. 
Malaspina 2005

His work, though far from uninteresting, ranks well below that of his much younger contemporaries. On any given day, a leisurely stroll through the galleries of Williamsburg, Beleville or Brunnenstrasse would quickly disabuse any baby-booming nostalgic of the antique perception of Currado Malaspina as a cutting-edge or 'cool' artist.

Curators continue to insist upon his relevance but that has more to do with the average age of the museum trustee (62) than with the enduring nature of Malaspina's minor triumphs. 

Malaspina's arrogance, to be fair, is simply a mechanism for his spiritual survival for how else does one justify a life of abject selfishness. How to explain the four wives, the countless mistresses, the neglected children and the infinite injury imposed upon friend and foe alike? 

 I pity the poor guy because I'm sure that in his heart of hearts he knows his life has been one long bagatelle of imperiousness and boredom.

Maybe with his last remaining years he could divert his ennui into something more benign.

Like getting a pet.

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