Jean-Michel Basquiat’s 1982 Untitled painting of a skull looks like a prison that can barely contain all the rage, anger and fierce memories that drive a person. Painted in graffiti style, it is young and barely controlled. You wonder how it is ever going to get through life and then you wonder what could ever turn it into the mournful helpless bone-white thing we are accustomed to seeing when death finally takes it.
Now it just sold for $110.5 million. What does this mean? That there is a million-dollar difference between seeing a work of art and owning it—possessing it? As I write this, all I have to do if I want to see it is close my eyes. Frankly, I would rather do this experiment with Picasso’s Guernica; it is more beautiful and, at the same time, more terrifying. I wonder how much it would cost? But that doesn’t matter, does it?
Money is involved on a different scale than the most beautiful, or meaningful things, or what the inside of your head does every time it is confronted with an image that you are deeply moved by. It can be a painting or a memory, a tree or a child that causes you to feel. Art is made by man. When money is involved the object has to be made by man. The actual sunset, the moon in the night sky, or a human skull—well that price is astronomical and therefore it is free.
Things made by man cost money to show their value, just in case we forget—we are such a forgetful pack of mutants. It also shows the power of the collector, just in case we forget this too, because we are such a mindless bunch of lemmings. But then there is another wrinkle—whatever costs the most money is the best, and if you don’t think so you could lose your membership to the human race. This can be very disruptive. Only the rich get to say what is good?
Now we don’t decide whether we like it or not—we are being told. And suddenly we are staring at something we really don’t like, while munching on a piece of cheese, and swallowing more champagne than necessary just to prove we are so interested in someone else’s idea of art because we don’t really give a fuck, we just want to see that much money move from point A to point B because that’s what really gets us off.
Is a graffiti skull more beautiful than a Georgia O’Keeffe skull? Neither of which are nearly as impressive as the skull you still remember from that horror movie, where your Nana had to drag you out, kicking and screaming in terror. Boy, was that mind-blowing or what?
Wake me up when a painting costs as much as a sunset, or when a sunset impresses us as much as a painting. I’ll be on the couch dreaming of something I never saw before—but something I recognized… from the past or the future. Or something that had been right here beside me all the time. And that is priceless.
You keep bringing up Picasso’s Guernica. Methinks that’s your favorite bit of art.
As for the skull, I think it’s brilliant. This is the type of art that happens when every pencil you have has a broken tip, the sharpener cannot be found and there is nothing rough around to rub the pencils on.
It also is produced after one gets married. Having once been married myself, I’m pretty sure I’ve painted this piece before…
If I might add a couple more pennies to my two cent comment above (and this might be a little long so maybe it won’t make it through moderation), I’d like to address the 110 million dollar price tag.
As stated and implied in my previous comment, all married men who can paint have made this same picture and then hidden it in the darkest region of their closets where the wife cannot find it. All married men give this image the very same title, namely, “The ‘ol Ball and Chain” (ToBaC). (Basquiat would have titled it, “The SAMO Ball and Chain.”) Basquiat, though, did not wish to offend the sensibilities of half his audience, so he left it untitled.
It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words, and indeed, ToBaC captures the very essence of what a man feels during the course of marriage, but cannot adequately express in words. (Mary’s words that ToBaC “looks like a prison” shows just how sharp her mind still is.) When such feelings surface, men who have painted ToBaC pull it out of their closets and gaze at it in relief, saying, “Ah, yes, THAT is exactly how I feel!” Having expressed themselves through the “thousand words” of this picture, they then hide it again.
The man who bought Basquiat’s ToBaC for 110 million dollars (Yusaku Maezawa) is a divorced man who CANNOT paint, and thus, he has the double frustration of having felt what all us married men feel, but without the capability of expressing it. It is very much like the mute who desires to speak but cannot. What is speech worth to that mute? The answer is: it’s priceless. A mute would pay anything to speak. No price would be too high. So this man who bought the piece for 110 million dollars thinks he got a bargain. He displays it on his wall and looks at it every time he remembers his marriage and gets “the feeling” and thinks, “Ah, blessed relief! That is how I feel! And I don’t have to hide this away in my closet like all the other married men!”
His ex-wife will scoff and say how ugly it is and what a waste of money spent on an “untitled piece” that serves no purpose, not understanding that the ability to precisely express oneself is A BEAUTIFUL THING worth all the money in the world.
Hello Kelly :
Thank you for your insights and passionate comments.
I appreciate your interest.
Best
Mary