Tonight David Breskin, whose new art (and sounds, and poems) book, with Ed Ruscha and Nels Cline (of Wilco), Dirty Baby, I am publicizing, had an event at Gagosian Shop. It, like him, and his work, was sublime. Here's a full report for you vicarious lovers:
Here I am in the cab, wearing Kostas Murkudis, Marni, Ann Demeulemeester, Sally Cohen Vintage, and a few other things. Thoughts on getting dressed: Well, of course the gloves were going to fit over my rings-- they're Italian. Some things should never be doubted.
First I went to the Gregory Crewdson show at Gagosian, an exhibition of photographs of romantic decay amid the once-famed, now largely abandoned, Cinecittà film backlots in Rome. An intriguing analogue to his usual hyper-stylized motifs. Then I had some time to kill and decided to stroll the neighborhood a little. My happiness was both profound and complete when, a few storefronts up, I found myself in front of Sant Ambroeus. I sat at the bar and enjoyed an espresso and a caprese salad, and was delighted when the waiter told me to "have a beautiful night." It was so emphatic I took it as fortuitous.
I walked back to Gagosian Shop and was first on the scene, per usual. Soon after David showed up in Commes des Garcons. I looked around for a while at things for sale, like this:
And this:
They also sell art, and books, and Jeff Koons dog vases, and fashion magazines in a back room, where I hung out for a while, poring over Love and Self Service, which asks the best questions:
Then David read a few poems and discussed their relationship to the art in the book, as well as contemporary politics. They are based on an ancient Arabic form called the ghazal. My favorite poem of all time is a ghazal, actually. They have a particularly beautiful cadence. He also signed books and talked to his famous artist friends, like Joel Sternfeld and other people whose names I didn't catch. One of his friends won the PEN/Faulkner for The Bear Comes Home, about a bear that plays the saxophone, and everyone talked about smart things like the provenance of the phrase "writing about music is like dancing about architecture," and Roland Barthes' essay "The Writer on Vacation." About how, actually, the writer is never on vacation. David signed books for people who asked things like, can I get this shipped to Japan?
It was a very different event than the one in Los Angeles last week at LACMA that drew 600 people, more of an Upper East Side scale. Ed and Nels couldn't be there tonight, but then I took this picture of Ed talking on the phone in a book about the 1960s LA avant-garde FERUS gallery and that made me happy. I sent it to my friend Jen Bekman with the subject "I just called to say..." and the message: "I love you xo from Gagosian" which is the best email I ever sent. I also thought about how I had seen some of these paintings in Stockholm this summer, and isn't life wild?
Then I heard my second-favorite line of the night: "Are you [redacted]'s wife?" "No, actually I'm his archivist."
My favorite line was when I was walking out and someone stopped me to ask if he's seen me in a movie. A beautiful night.
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