Tag Archives: horrifying parties

TOP TEN THINGS TO SEE AT THE VENICE BIENNALE 2015

5 May

Aper

PPBorborygmusArtCriticBY GUEST CRITIC PP BORBORYGMUS, CONTEMPORARY ART CORRESPONDENT AT LARGE FOR TEMPORARY CON ART MAGAZINE

1. THE FRIEZE PARTY

It’s fabulous because hardly anybody can get in, so no riff-raff will be there to see you trash the place and talk shit about the person you’ll then turn right around to, air kiss and and be all smiles with. You’ll see lots of peons outside, though, trying to blag their way in as you sail through like an oligarch’s yacht (see No. 2) deliberately ramming a Mediterranean immigrant raft. That’ll show them who’s important and who isn’t. Matthew Slotover is a darling and almost never strangles people then stuffs them into weighted suitcases to dump into the lagoon from the back of a water taxi in the middle of the night a bit like that chap in American Psycho. Don’t forget to appreciate his tasteful business card and you should be fine.

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Matthew Slotover rarely does this.

2. PARTY ON AN OLIGARCH’S YACHT

It’s fabulous because everybody is incredibly rich. There are always a few yachts docked beside or crashed into the front walls of Venice’s historic palazzi. Oili Massovoye-Ubiystvic’s über-yacht is the crème de la crème; it’s forty storeys high, matte black, armed with mortars supplied by Poju Zabludowicz, and it has its own designer brig section for permanently imprisoning Middle Eastern refugee women who’ve been sold into sexual slavery. If you ever wondered about Venice parties having so many bevies of dazed, dopey, dusky twenty-two year olds in couture dresses, wonder no more. And the answers are yes, they come from O M-U’s sex brig; don’t worry, they probably won’t remember much because of the rohypnol; maybe, but don’t touch what you can’t afford because breakages must be paid for; no, the dresses don’t belong to them.

3. PARTY BY ONE OF THE COUNTRIES WHO HAD A BIG ENOUGH EMPIRE TO BE IN THE GIARDINI

Get there reasonably early because sometimes they’re a bit stingy with the free nibbles and drinkies. Something to do with tax payers’ money? You might be surprised how many tax payers you actually know, so just get as much down you as possible and politely pass over the tricky subject of who pays for all this stuff. Grab a whole bottle from a passing tray if you can. On the plus side you can probably tick off a lot of these little ones in very quick succession, so they work as a delightful if sometimes unpleasantly democratic pre-party for the main attraction which is obviously the Frieze party, oligarch yacht hopping, Lady Gaga’s party (see No. 4), or preferably all three.

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WHAT THE BUCK?

2 May
EvilTwins

The terrible two: Anita Zabludowicz (wearing her Anita Z botox selfie mask) and Charles Saatchi (thinking about choking a bitch, probably). A plague on both their houses, preferably a very painful plague accompanied by an embarrassing loss of control over bodily functions.

I know I shouldn’t expect much from a longstanding Anita Zabludowicz toady like Louisa Buck, but I just couldn’t resist the disconnect between somebody who goes by the highfalutin title of “Independent Critic and Contemporary Art Correspondent, The Art Newspaper” and this item by her in that very “Newspaper”[sic]; an article written in the style of a fourteen year old YouTube makeover vlogger. It’s a short but ghastly piece of prose, not to mention the sickening images it celebrates…  mainly that of Thatcherite horrors like Charles “I emphasise my point with strangling” Saatchi, Tory Tracey From Margate and Der Friezeführer Matthew Slotover “imbibing and dancing in and around the Zabludowicz swimming pool”. To me this is a vision of hell, not of fun.

“Independent Critic” = unemployed and “Contemporary Art Correspondent, The Art Newspaper” seems to be a euphemism for “Louisa gets invited to posh parties on the understanding that she’ll bang out a quick drivelling puff piece about them when she sobers up.” Her slot at The Art Newspaper is called ‘The Buck Stops Here’, which feeds in almost perfectly to the retort that she really should stop.

I recommend bracing yourself for a barrage of this content-and-critique-free cack in all the art magazines and broadsheet newspapers when the metropolitan media follow the art world’s worst and shitest as they decamp to Venice for the Biennale at the start of May.

EvilTwins

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

23 Dec

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Detail of a photo from the early 1960s of an arty farty party thrown by art philanthropist Peggy Guggenheim. The Guggenator herself is not pictured. Just imagine a frozen turkey that’s been basted in money then balanced precariously on top of an expensive dress. The weird and horrifying thing is that fifty years on from the day this photograph was taken, arty farty parties still look like this. Art collectors, art patrons and the people who run major galleries are still this old, they’re still from this specific and tiny substratum of society and most them still look exactly like this.

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