Plastique Fantastique
Everything starts and ends with money. If cash weaves its relentless way through all of our lives, then art is one of its clearest expressions. While it appears to be purely cultural, devoid of all consumerist constructions, ironically, it is its biggest producer.
But inside auction houses, there is a further secret… they are unusual museums where humans become the objet d’art.
The myth that money can’t buy art, or that real art has no price tag is oft bandied around town. But then, why the auction houses, why Sotheby’s, why Christie’s, and why The Antiques Road Show? The art world is just as caught up in the money net as Canary Wharf.
But inside auction houses, there is a further secret… they are unusual museums where humans become the objet d’art. Like the intriguing little antiques of unknown provenance, the ladies of the hour also live in liminal spaces. They speak of new and old, priceless and pricey. They are (close) to achieving trompe l’oeil. It feels as if there is a battle of exhibitions, between the human and ornate, where a plastic world of old Barbies reigns supreme.
I squinted, trying to spot any sneaky spray cans sticking out of Birkins à la Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her.
Entering a recent auction at a top house, I half-expected Greta Thunberg to race in, or the Stop Oil crew to stage a podium takeover, given the amount of plastic on display. But of course, in here, it wasn’t the out-in-the-open travesty of landfills (not that it was any less noticeable). The eyes in the room were embedded in faces so filled with filler that they jutted out at strange angles. I squinted, trying to spot any sneaky spray cans sticking out of Birkins à la Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her.
These faces are preserved with so much (CH2-CHX)n, it's a miracle they're still counted as fully alive. No wonder they're wealthy—affording masterpieces in the tens of millions, accumulating wealth for centuries, only to vanish like Greta Garbo (‘I want to be alone’), reappearing decades later with a fresh face at another auction, even richer. Is this what it takes to be ‘cultural’?
How do these once-natural beauties feel about their current form? Do they know that the aesthetic can be overshot?
As an outsider, it can feel as though you were peering in on a Mad-Hatter party. There’s a brazenness to it, a sense that desire has gone too far. But this is not simply about making fun. It is instead recognising the demands we place on ourselves to become or to attempt to replicate art. It is an attempt to recognise how art and life-imitating-art can be both unappealing and appealing, pricey and cheap. How do these once-natural beauties feel about their current form? Do they know that the aesthetic can be overshot? If performance art and all sorts of A.I. have become a staple of the art scene, is this a further development, a case of living the plastic art?
Perhaps it's humbling to know that if you're not satisfied with your current face, you can always switch it up. The catch? You need moolah. Without the cash, you won't get the art or the face, just the icy stares and chilly shoulders. Welcome to the art world—everything beautiful comes with a price.