By Mari Fløystad Juliebø
Him: Sometimes I struggle to connect with people the way I connect with art. I stopped doing drugs around people because it didn’t help but I do a lot of drugs around paintings. I’m really high right now and I feel more connected to this painting. It speaks to me a lot, you probably wouldn’t understand. It sucks to grow up and realise you’re more talented than your artistic inspirations. I painted a version of my favourite artists’ work and mine was better but it will never get the same recognition that his did because men like me aren’t really seen in art anymore. It’s all about identity and I just like to paint white, naked skinny women but, like, in a subversive way. My art is quite original in the sense that it’s never really genuine or emotional, it’s an objective representation. I strongly believe in using logic and not feelings when creating stuff. Obviously I’m not the most talented person in the world, that’s Banksy, but I am pretty good.
Me: So, why are you at the art exhibit today? Did you make anything here?
Him: No, my art isn’t really meant to be seen by the public this way, it needs to be experienced. I usually paint after having sex with beautiful women, and then they function as both the artistic inspiration, process and audience. That is how I like to make art. It just seems too contrived in spaces like this. Let me know if you want to be part of my art someday. Anyway, I just like my art to be quite unique, made from experience, not to be on display. I haven’t gotten any offers for galleries to show my art, but if they did I would say no. I live off my parents’ money, so I don’t need to worry about income. But not in an entitled way, they only give me enough for my penthouse flat and lots of drugs. But I work really hard and I know I will get my big break and then I will buy an even bigger penthouse. If you come to my flat you can have some drugs. No? It’s really cool, I have a really big bed. Every morning in my expensive flat I have a fancy espresso then I wank into the empty cup and then I drink my shower water.
*A alternate review of Ben Lerner’s Leaving the Atocha Station