Jeffrey Deitch has told sources at Sotheby's that he intends to "rejuvenate the Andre Emmerich Gallery" by doing a series of historical shows.
First up this November, a Man Ray mini-retrospective. To accomplish such an undertaking on such short notice, Deitch recruited Dada expert Francis Naumann, who has been courting a certain Mrs. Savage, niece of the great artist. Naumann even learned to play golf, remarking to a friend, "I've always wanted to."
Deitch then turned around and called Naumann's arch-Dada-rival, Timothy Baum, telling Baum, "I want you on the team." It's not the first time the two Dada experts have been linked up for a show.
Deitch's ultimate goal: to totally rehabilitate Salvador Dalí with the assistance of critic/curator Charles Stuckey.
"Oh, and by the way, you might get blown up.... People are actually living history here, punctuated by periodic violence. Those who visit Bilbao may come away thinking that art is not entirely remote from matters of life and death."
--Herbert "Hubris" Muschamp in the New York Times Magazine
Weirdly, it took the Guggenheim Bilbao to expose the New York Times as a cultural propaganda machine worthy of comparison to Pravda.
When Basque terrorists predictably attacked the Bilbao box by hiding in trucks transporting the flowers used to reconstruct Jeff Koons' Puppy, the Times alluded to a vague attack in one line on Oct. 14, with total silence following the next day.
Because the Times annointed Frank Gehry's folly as the new Taj Mahal, negative Bilbao news is verboten -- even though the same Basque tax dollars that built Gehry's wreck will pay for the funeral of the policeman murdered in the attack.
When we alighted from the second-floor elevator at Christie's private-view gallery under the 59th Street bridge, feelin' groovy, we espied John Richardson hunched over a stack of books, cramming for the private tour he was about to give of Sally and Victor Ganz's Picassos, to be auctioned with the rest of the collection on Nov. 10.
Richardson appeared quite infirm on his crooked aluminum cane, but when the firebell rang, this old trotter whinnied like a colt again, tossing off bon mots and luring the wealthy into a steamy back room to show off additional Picassos, over the jolly objections of Michael Caine doppelgänger Christopher Burge.
Johnny chortled over a randy lavender penis placed by Pablo atop Marie-Thérèse Walter's yummy brow in the stunning Dream, at which point Charlie Rose stepped off the Otis and into the embrace of gorgeous girlfriend Amanda Burden.
The legend of '50s beauty Babe Paley survives and thrives in her gorgeous daughter. Allegedly, even Rose stopped tom-cattin' to get a taste of Park Avenue.
Maybe the two will pool their piggy banks and bid on Dream. Though Christie's declined to provide an estimate, the Flush predicts that Dream will break $50 million.
Did Sotheby's Madonna Dede Brooks ever get a Yale diploma?
The confusion arises because Miss Porter's School, aka Farmington (high school of Jackie Bouvier AND RF's own mom), is running an ad in the Yale alumni magazine, with a solo photo of Brooks plus gavel, listing her as Farmington '68 and Yale '74.
But there's no mention of Brooks in our Yale '74 yearbook, and we don't remember her, while the Yale alumni directory lists Brooks as Yale '72.
What's up with the sheepskin, Deedsy?
Memo to Hilton Kramer: Richard Diebenkorn is way overrated -- even the Dieb got tired of his poorly drafted "Ocean Park" schtick, frequently lapsing into representation.
How many times can you badly bisect a fucking triangle in the right hand corner of some aerial pastels?
And by the way, Hilton, we agree that Frank Gehry is a total phoney baloney, but it's a little rich for you to mock him in the new New Criterion for changing his name from Frank Goldberg.
Weren't you once Milton Kramer?
Do you think we'll ever read anything funny in the New Yorker's "Shouts and Murmurs," aka "Gouts and Tremors?" Guess Tina Brown don't know how to clown.
The Chicago-based rag New Art Examiner has uncovered a surprising new left-wing scapegoat, plantation fantasist Kara Walker.
Hitherto considered untouchable by the P.C. police, on account of her RISD pedigree and young Af Am femness, Walker was condemned by a "Racism in the Art World" conference at A.I.R. gallery in New York for her silhouetted slave porno, branded a minstrel like Robert Colescott.
How about also rounding up Af Am artists Fred Wilson and Michael Ray Charles, who also employ Negrophilia?
That's how the decrepit, dangerous, hard-left works: First there aren't any successful Af Am artists -- now let's censor the high-profile ones out of existence.
First, they came for Colescott, then, for Kara Walker . . .
CHARLIE FINCH is the New York editor of Coagula Art Journal and has coauthored the forthcoming Most Art Sucks from Smart Art Press.