Art Guy and Gus make their way down 5th avenue after Gus has talked our hero into going to a Christie's auction. It's not that Art Guy doesn't like auction houses, he loves them. They just take a lot out of him.
"Quit being a wimp," says Gus. "Don't you want to know the story of art today, rather than 800 years ago?"
"I want to be well rested for the print show opening tonight. Remember, our new boss is going to be there. And besides, there's more to 'art today' than the big stuff that gets exchanged for big cash from one big hand to another."
"Like street musicians?" Gus gestures toward a street fiddler. "Is that what you mean by art today?"
Finally in one of these conversations, our hero doesn't feel like the bad guy. "Gus, public art will be remembered. The decoration of our daily lives that's freely available, it's more prominent now than ever in human history. Don't you feel blessed to walk among the rich storehouse of the public domain, rather than surround yourself with a few coveted items like those fat cats do?"
"A lot of that art ends up in museums."
"They're just as bad," says Art Guy. It has the makings of a rant, so Gus cuts him off.
"Alright, sorry I brought it up. But Christie's is central to another aspect of art that you better learn quick, Mr. Guy. Art of the private domain. That's the art that ends up in textbooks."
"You've got a lot of spirit, partner," says Art Guy. "One second."
He runs over and drops his change in the fiddler's violin case.
"Some recession," says the fiddler as she eyes the change, causing Art Guy to look up.
"Mr. Guy, we'll miss our subway car," Gus says.
Our hero turns toward Gus, and then back toward the fiddler, and feels utterly defeated.
"Sorry," he says to the musician, and he throws a fiver into the case. He then catches up with Gus.
---
Auction houses are very complicated. So trust that the following account of an auction is in no way a representation of real life.
"Going once...going twice...sold to the man in the smoking jacket!" says the auctioneer before a Modigliani portrait. A man in a purple-trim tuxedo and dark glasses takes possession of the canvas and smiles for a line of paparazzi.
Art Guy watches as the Modigliani's new owner takes his seat among a crowd of other men in dark glasses wearing purple trim tuxedos.
"Look at the gangsters over there, Mr. Guy," Gus says overtly. As he says this, our hero wishes he could vanish into a painting of a Renoir party like the little girl does in that children's book about the National Gallery in London.
"The next item on our list...iiis...a Limoges enamel tea set! Do I hear 30,000? 30,000?"
Before the speedy-mouthed auctioneer can get to her third 30,000, a man dressed in a tan checkered suit, seated among a group of other men in tan checkered suits, puts up his number.
"30,000, do I hear 50?"
"Alright, I'm getting it," says a male voice from the back. Both the tuxedoed and checkered-suited groups turn toward him. Art Guy notices he is certainly not associated with a mob. He looks more like a recent student, wearing a blazer over a light pink shirt and dark sweater.
"Don't spend it on that, are you crazy?" says a woman in a bright red coat next to him, "We're going to wait for the map of Dickensian London. Do you forget that we're just out of grad school and there's a recession on?"
"It was your idea to come here," he retorts. "I'm going to enjoy myself if you'd let me." He raises his voice and directs it to the front. "I'll put 50 on the Limoges set."
"Do I hear 60?" says the auctioneer.
The tuxedo people put up their number.
"Do I hear 70?"
The checkered-suit people bid.
"Do I hear 80?"
"I can't pay that much," says the young man in the back.
"80,000 for an authentic limoges enamel tea set?" says the auctioneer. "Going once-"
Suddenly a woman near Art Guy and Gus, who wears a "Metropolitan Museum of Art" badge on the lapel of a long, black coat, raises her number.
"This is intense," whispers our hero to Gus.
"I told you it would be fun. This is what art is all about," says Gus.
"Do I hear 90?" says the auctioneer, raising her voice.
The checkered-suit people put up their number again.
"We have 90! Do I hear one hundred thousand?"
"Fine!" says the man in the back, raising his number.
"100,000, going once. Going twice!"
The men in the tuxedos and suits grumble.
"Sold to the man in the back."
"Yes!" says the young man.
"I'm still getting the Dickensian London map, jerk," says the woman in the red coat.
Throughout the afternoon a close pattern of bidding wars can be observed between the tuxedos, the checkered suits, and the Met representative. But when the the Dickensian London is presented, the woman in the red coat walks away victorious.
"Alright, can we go now, before they descend into the sub-Alpine primitives?" says the young man next to her.
"I like Italian paintings, but fine," she says. As they make their way out the door, Art Guy notices one tuxedo and one checkered suit follow them.
Indeed the next set includes some very low-priced late medieval Italian panel paintings.
"Because of the recession, this Simone Martini/Lippo Memmi collaborative Legend of the True Cross diptych is starting at 60 dollars," says the auctioneer.
No one makes a sound.
"60 dollars," the auctioneer repeats.
Art Guy realizes that he might have 60 dollars. He reaches for his number.
Gus says, "Don't you always say it's unwise to buy objects in your field?"
"Forget that," says Art Guy. "I'll donate it to my college museum or something."
"Even that's a slippery slope," says Gus.
"Shhhh."
Our hero reaches into his back pocket to check if he has sixty on him. His heart sinks.
"Gus, my wallet's gone."
"I have one for sixty!" says the auctioneer, gazing off into a distant corner of the room.
"Gus, what on earth happened to my wallet?" says Art Guy.
"Do I hear 100 dollars?" says the auctioneer. "Going once, going twice, and sold to the violin player!"
Art Guy looks up.
The fiddler player from 5th avenue walks up to the stage and claims her new Simone Martini. As she heads for the door, and the auction is adjourned, the Met representative stands up and makes a lightning-speed Manhattanite track toward her, disappearing into the crowd.
Art Guy stares off hopelessly.
"Mr. Guy, it looks like we're not well-dressed enough to chase people from Christie's," says Gus.
"I don't think we have much of a choice, Gus."
(to be continued...)
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