Ich habe ein installation gemacht auf der Berliner Liste, und die vernissage ist hotte, aber du hast dieser gehort schon. Farfignugen. Birkenstock. Wolf Blitzer.
I know that I've expressed extreme discontent with, disdain for, and general bitterness towards art fairs, but I think I like Art Fairs in Berlin. Something is different. Maybe it's that I'm not being drunkenly trampled by coked out Murakami sycophants. Maybe it's that I prefer bratwurst to 13 dollar Cuban sandwiches. Maybe I just hate America.
Anyhoo, the Berliner Liste opens tonight, and I'm exhibiting with Extraraum. The space for the art fair is fucking amazing, period. I would live there. I would raise my children there. I would forgo my chastity promise in order to have children just to rear them inside this crazy old hotel. I am having a hard time even finding words to describe it. First it was a hotel, then a tax office---everything has a forgotten Art Deco meets Roccoco appeal to it. Dark wooden reliefs, bright purple hallways, a red carpet, winding staircases, non-functional fireplaces, faux tiled bathrooms with reliefs of Grecian goddesses, gray-green floors in all the rooms. Beautiful.