The "Have"s and the "Have-not"s

I've recently become sort of addicted to Twitter. I used to be really resistant to it because I thought it was fucking stupid that we all felt the need to update each other regarding our daily activities in 140 characters or less. Then I started working for an organization who figured it would be a good business move to have a Twitter account and I volunteered to "tweet". As I set up the account I was told the best way to get Twitter followers was to "follow" as many people as possible. The organization I work for is involved in the arts so I started there. I began following all of the major art organizations, and through them I started following some of the individual players in the art world. These people are mostly located in NYC and it seems like they're all friends because they're always "re-tweeting" each other. (I don't know how Twitter caught on. I feel like a total douchebag even using the word. Forget turning it into a verb.) These people are artists, art critics, art writers, art bloggers and other types of art orbiters. It's kind of an interesting experience reading the tweets from these people. It's totally voyeuristic and I almost feel like I'm one of them. I know that at anytime I could reply to their tweet and be in on the conversation. The other day there was some tweet banter (I wish "tweet" was a cooler word so I could create and awesome word hybrid between "tweet" and "banter", alas "tweeter"totally sucks) about the artist William Powhida, who is a huge Twitterer himself. (Don't worry, the words Twitter and Tweet will soon fall out of the narrative. If they don't I'll kill myself...myself.) Powhida had recently attracted a lot of attention with one of his drawings which accuses the New Museum in New York of "committing suicide with banality". Essentially Powhida is an artistic rabble-rouser, and as one art writer put it he "watch dogs" the New York art community. His Tweets on this particular day were about the fact that a print of one of his drawings was about to go up for sale on a website called 20X200. The content of the Tweet went something like "POWHIDA PRINT FOR SALE ON 20X200 LIMITED SUPPLY BUY NOW BUYBUYBUYBUY". I went to the site and the prints were only $20 and it was a limited edition print. Powhida is kind of famous. There are only 200. It's only $20. You can bet your buttons that I dug into my big messy purse and began rummaging about for my poor, overwrought credit card. See the thing is I'm totally fucking broke so I picture my poor like Chase card scooting it's little plastic self away from my roving hands in an effort to stem the avalanche of credit card debt which I seem dead set on accumulating. But Chasey couldn't escape, and I bought that print. You are now reading the words of the owner of a limited edition William Powhida print.

The subject matter and aesthetic merit of the print were secondary to my desire to become an "art collector". I've always wanted to be a collector. Art is sacred to me. Ever since my first art history class in high school was totally fucking smitten. I love the idea that someone has the balls to take what is inside of their brain, manifest it physically, then put it on display for all to see. I love the spectacle of art. I love the stories and the personalities. Maybe that's why I love following the art crowd on Twitter. They've got personality, they're interesting, at least they are in 140 characters. William Powhida is especially interesting. He's a really good artist, his drawings are fantastic but more importantly he's always getting the art world to ask questions about itself. I'm not positive to what end, but it's always good to get a theoretical entity to pull it's head out it's ass from time to time. The print I bought is handwritten list of reasons "Why You Should Buy Art". The reasons include "It's a ticket into polite society. Move Up!" and "Free Access to Artists With Every Purchase" and "Art Enthusiasm and Appreciation Are for the Poor". Obviously he's making fun of pretty much everyone here. He's making fun of the art market, he's making fun of museums, he's making fun or art patrons...woah. Wait, he's fucking making fun of ME! I just dropped $20 on this shit and he's fucking mocking me! This dude realizes that there is a whole segment of the population that is looking at the art world with our nose pressed up against the glass. He knows that we want to be a part of this world that is reserved for the incredibly wealthy or the incredibly talented. Either you are rich enough to buy great art or you're the artist getting their shit bought. I think he actually was part of that population at one point. His bio is littered with references to being an "art outsider" and he notes that he attended Syracuse and subsequently Hunter because they were "easy" and "cheap". See? He's not a snob. He's an outsider. Just like us. So why do I feel like I've been totally fucking bamboozled? His Tweet and the whole idea of selling his art in limited edition for very cheap preys upon those of us who are always the art bridesmaid, never the bride. It makes us feel like art collectors. But essentially I could just walk up and take a picture of the Mona Lisa and hang it on my wall and I'd have the same standard of art + $20 less credit card debt.

This is a noticeable trend in consumer culture. It's especially prevalent in art and fashion, but you can see it everywhere. Fashion houses like Sonia Rykiel and Commes de Garcon are doing lines for H&M. High end restaurants are putting out "small plates". Vintners are bottling cheaper wines for greater distribution. But in the end, aren't we all getting what we pay for? I bought a piece of paper with a piece of art printed on it. The Comme de Garcon shirt you buy from H&M is made of the same shitty material that all the shirts they sell are made of. The wine isn't the same grape as the $150 bottle. We're all paying for a name that will make us feel like part of a club. The art world is exclusive. The world of fashion is exclusive. It's a limited number of people who know enough about wine to know why some wines are really expensive. I think people like William Powhida hated the exclusivity of the art world when he was coming up, so he did everything he could to call it out on it's bullshit. He was irreverent and edgy and art people fucking LOVE that shit so they started to pay attention to him. But now that he's actually part of the club his sarcasm and tongue-in-cheek barbs at the "establishment" are more confusing than anything else. By offering me a piece of "art" for $20 you've made me feel like I'm being patronized. I feel like you're giving me handout because you feel bad for me because I don't have the same level of access that you do. Worse, I feel like I'm some part of a greater artistic or cultural experiment that will be unveiled at a later date. I'm going to be some statistic on a big chart that shows the effect that "outsiderism" has on art sales. I know this all sounds paranoid and resentful but are my paranoia and resentment bred by the fucked-up relationship between the haves and the have-nots? This is an old story. The poor are always trying to get what the rich have. They can achieve a version of it, but they then ultimately realize that it's all superficial and they freak the fuck out. Is this a cycle that is destined to repeat itself over and over? Are we headed for a Revolution? Powhida seems to be talking some revolutionary game. He's like the Honore Daumier of his time. But isn't he now sort of that which he rails against? Aren't we all outsiders at one point? Does success mean that we're out of the frying pan of outsiderism into the pan of bourgeois? Will I someday be writing articles for the NYTimes about the bullshit politics of the art world and then go out to dinner with Jeff Koons? WILL I EVER STOP ASKING MYSELF THESE STUPID PSUEDO-EXISTENTIAL CARRIE BRADSHAW-TYPE QUESTIONS?

Hey if anything Powhida's got the ole mental wheels turning, and there's nothing wrong with that. Plus his website is pretty funny so I'm not mad at him. I just don't really know where to put this print. I'm thinking in the shitter, but I don't want my roommates to know what a superficial art sycopant I am.