It’s normal, I suppose, not to remember the first meeting with a friend. And always to remember the last. I got to know Bob Hughes in the London of the later ’60s—O.K., “Swinging London,” a term that began slipping into ironic usage as soon as it was coined—this being a city in which Australians, not being burdened by Brit passive-aggression, stood out. Martin Sharp of Oz magazine was at the front of my building, Germaine Greer was across the corridor, and Bob and Danne Hughes were around the corner in a Chelsea square.
Week in Pictures
This week, Gallerist attended a hoe-down, a couple of spring galas, a Playboy magazine signing and a party for MTV’s Art Breaks launch. If you missed out on some of them, take a stroll through this photo gallery.
Armory Week 2012
“You can be part of the party,” said Ed Winkleman to Gallerist, pointing to a photo-op with a life-size cut-out of artist Jennifer Dalton in a pink dress placed by some cocktails before an image of a disco scene. “It’s a response to the sentiment by Anthony Haden-Guest that art fairs have become the new disco.”
The line around the corner to get into Hiro Ballroom last night for Public Storage Blues, a benefit for the writer Anthony Haden-Guest, was not because the club was filled to capacity—it’s just that they weren’t letting anyone in. The invitation said doors at 7:30, and it was 8:00 p.m.; Mr. Haden-Guest hadn’t arrived yet with the list. Mr. Haden-Guest, the one-time New York magazine art critic, decades-long mainstay on the party circuit, occasional Observer contributor and the definitive chronicler of the disco era was late to his own party. A group of people who looked like they should have been used to standing in the cold outside from all those years at Studio 54, waited in line while talking about the indignation of waiting in line. Finally, offering a coy “sorry,” Mr. Haden-Guest arrived, list in hand, looking like he had been out at a different party and lost track of time.
friends with benefits
In honor of Anthony Haden-Guest’s benefit tonight at the Maritime Hotel’s Hiro Ballroom, at which the writer, charging attendees $30 a pop, hopes to raise money towards his lawsuit against Public Storage, we publish the accompanying drawing Mr. Haden-Guest made two years ago on the tablecloth of a London restaurant of, well, let’s just say it’s someone who works for this organization, eyes narrowed peevishly, fiddling with her Blackberry as though her life depends on it, and saying, “The art world is a bit of a farce.”
Anthony Haden-Guest first met Damien Hirst in New York in the early 1990s. Today, exhibitions of Mr. Hirst’s “Spot Paintings” open at all 11 Gagosian Galleries worldwide.
This interview with Damien Hirst took place yesterday, in a conference room in the Gagosian Gallery on West 21st Street in Manhattan. Mr. Hirst was wearing a scarlet wool hat, a Joe Strummer T-shirt, two fistfuls of skull rings. We sat at a glass and metal table.
DAMIEN HIRST: So how are you, Anthony?