| Hammer and Tongs |
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At the "KunstRAI" last week, my seven-year old daughter wanted to buy this
golden hammer. (Created by Studio Job, executed in polished bronze, sole
copy, price NLG 2,400, displayed by the Amsterdam "Binnen"* Gallery, stand
no. 67.) Leaving aside for the moment the question as to whether I have so
far been able to emulate her Queen's Day success (see WR 47), I did not feel
like copying the spending pattern displayed by her. She calls a five-guilder
coin a gold piece, and is convinced that a handful will buy you the whole
world. Which didn't stop me inspecting the price tag and switching into
educationalist gear, for where will it all end? Although I have to admit
that many a treasure in my own gallery is considerably pricier.
* Literally, "indoors" or, a bit more cynically, "made it" (as in fortune). |
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The "KunstRAI" is a wonderful trade fair: whatever your likes (and
dislikes), you'll find plenty to indulge in. Few fairs manage to match such
overwhelming variety with such above-average attention for presentation. Or,
to wax lyrical for a second, the most impossible things have been frozen in
a vast choreographic still life which stubbornly refuses to conform to just
the one taste. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's amazing that such
an event is not attracting thousands more visitors.
You should know me well enough by now to realise that I'm about to engage in a spot of bean spilling, and because I'm not in the habit of sounding the alarm over any old thing, you will have recognised this as my cue for blowing the lid on Gross Injustice. As the target, you judge for yourself. I would have liked treating my highly esteemed regulars to complimentary tickets to the opening festivities, but saw my hopes dashed: as a participant, I was allotted a paltry ten free tickets, with up to ten more to be acquired for a price of fifty guilders each and plenty of forelock tugging. (I actually consider the payment thing to be highly essential, in that it gives you the reassuring feeling that you have treated your customers to something worth while, and I don't need to explain to you how painfully I am now aware of having denied myself this splendid sensation. In fact I find it almost embarrassing to admit that had it been up to me, I would have bought 800 of the darned things.) But there was plenty more woe where the above came from. The participants' information pack mentioned a preview (this had been scheduled from two to six in the afternoon on Tuesday the 5th of June, with the exhibition hall filled to about five percent of its capacity, just a tad over the limit to please Rudi Fuchs and his "empty room syndrome" (see WR 13)), adding in an arrogant aside that the fair would be open to the public from six o'clock onwards - which forced us, as paying participants, to relegate the vast majority of our pet people from the art loving part of the nation to the ranks of also-rans. How does one go about cushioning such a mortal blow? And so the woe gets more woeful still, for do you really think there's a single gallery owner or art trader to be found (myself included) who knows how to make his or her clients understand in advance that sadly they have failed to make their esteemed customers feel loved, appreciated and cherished? As important as a positive attitude is in my book, I can only answer this question in the negative - which goes some way towards explaining why you weren't informed in advance, and why so many gallery owners kept stuffing their faces with complimentary finger food during the preview so that no-one would be able to understand the inadequate explanations they were proffering. I know of just the one way of making up for this, without respect of persons, and that is by presenting the entire population of the country with complimentary tickets for next year's KunstRAI, without further explanation. |