Last night was a complete loss of appetite!
I was invited to Bill Powers’ Half Gallery on the Lower East Side to the opening reception for Italian artist Marco Perego. Having heard from several friends about Perego’s exclusive 3-day June show at the Nikki Diana Marquardt Gallery in Paris, I decided to go and appease my curiosity.
Upon my arrival I was struck with a horrific image which is unfortunately still haunting me. I’m afraid that in order for the dear reader to comprehend, I will have to go into a minimum of detail, but at least some detail. Lying on the floor, a mannequin of a murdered Amy Winehouse, shot in the head, whose splattered brain stuff decorates the wall on which hang three inconsequential ink drawings. Next to Amy’s head, more blood, and the infamous apple. On the other side, a seated William Burroughs, resting a rifle on his lap. “I hope everyone gets it. It’s funny, no?” says Perego quite loudly. The gallery was so packed, I began to feel rather faint. On the brink of passing out, Andy Spade grabbed my hand and drew me into a corner where the bloody exhibit was out of my sight. We chatted, and when Andy asked for my opinion on the ‘art’, all I could say was “Pardon the pun, Andy, but Ms Winehouse wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those jeans!” I then agreed to accompany the Spades to the RowPow West Village residence for dinner & drinks.
I was invited to Bill Powers’ Half Gallery on the Lower East Side to the opening reception for Italian artist Marco Perego. Having heard from several friends about Perego’s exclusive 3-day June show at the Nikki Diana Marquardt Gallery in Paris, I decided to go and appease my curiosity.
Upon my arrival I was struck with a horrific image which is unfortunately still haunting me. I’m afraid that in order for the dear reader to comprehend, I will have to go into a minimum of detail, but at least some detail. Lying on the floor, a mannequin of a murdered Amy Winehouse, shot in the head, whose splattered brain stuff decorates the wall on which hang three inconsequential ink drawings. Next to Amy’s head, more blood, and the infamous apple. On the other side, a seated William Burroughs, resting a rifle on his lap. “I hope everyone gets it. It’s funny, no?” says Perego quite loudly. The gallery was so packed, I began to feel rather faint. On the brink of passing out, Andy Spade grabbed my hand and drew me into a corner where the bloody exhibit was out of my sight. We chatted, and when Andy asked for my opinion on the ‘art’, all I could say was “Pardon the pun, Andy, but Ms Winehouse wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those jeans!” I then agreed to accompany the Spades to the RowPow West Village residence for dinner & drinks.
Everyone knows that Cynthia Rowley is brilliantly imaginative, but who would have thought of mini cheeseburgers and mini milkshakes to satisfy her guests? But even these petite delights were unable to restore my appetite. After viewing Perego’s show I was only capable of approaching the antique grand piano, and reaching for an Il Prosecco chilled on ice. The RowPows have an impressive full length swimming pool in the backyard. So I spent the rest of the evening sipping Proseccos by the pool…
