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Step 7Profit!
It's Miller time! Your achingly self-referential virtual commodity fetish object is shrink-wrapped and ready to ship. In just a moment you'll be putting your feet up on the table and watching the revenues roll in.
Of course, you'll first have to sort out who, approximately, will be supplying those revenues, but it turns out that's an easy one. In the 47 years since Italian artist Piero Manzoni managed to sell -- as art works -- ninety 1-oz. tins of his own shit priced at the worth of their weight in gold, the conceptual art market has absorbed thousands of pointedly useless objects framed as meditations on the fraught confluence of value, institutions, and creative expression, and it definitely has room for the five or six you'll be peddling.
Didn't know you were a conceptual artist, huh? Well, you are now -- at least for as long as it takes to talk your way into the nearest gallery or art fair, which shouldn't be too hard. Personally, I got lucky and sold the first three copies from my five-copy hand-bound Play Money edition to the eager curator of a Belgian arts festival without ever having to establish my (nonexistent) credentials as a professional artist. But don't worry. If anyone presses you on the matter, just talk fast and pepper your sentences with a few choice names and phrases ( Lawrence Weiner, Mel Bochner, J.S.G. Boggs, and for that matter "virtual commodity," "commodity fetish," "fetish object," and "achingly self-referential" ought to get you started).
And if that doesn't work out, remember nowadays you can always count on the same hydra-headed buyer of last resort I intend to unload my final two copies on: the eBay market.
Seriously, those nutjobs will buy anything.
Of course, you'll first have to sort out who, approximately, will be supplying those revenues, but it turns out that's an easy one. In the 47 years since Italian artist Piero Manzoni managed to sell -- as art works -- ninety 1-oz. tins of his own shit priced at the worth of their weight in gold, the conceptual art market has absorbed thousands of pointedly useless objects framed as meditations on the fraught confluence of value, institutions, and creative expression, and it definitely has room for the five or six you'll be peddling.
Didn't know you were a conceptual artist, huh? Well, you are now -- at least for as long as it takes to talk your way into the nearest gallery or art fair, which shouldn't be too hard. Personally, I got lucky and sold the first three copies from my five-copy hand-bound Play Money edition to the eager curator of a Belgian arts festival without ever having to establish my (nonexistent) credentials as a professional artist. But don't worry. If anyone presses you on the matter, just talk fast and pepper your sentences with a few choice names and phrases ( Lawrence Weiner, Mel Bochner, J.S.G. Boggs, and for that matter "virtual commodity," "commodity fetish," "fetish object," and "achingly self-referential" ought to get you started).
And if that doesn't work out, remember nowadays you can always count on the same hydra-headed buyer of last resort I intend to unload my final two copies on: the eBay market.
Seriously, those nutjobs will buy anything.
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Aug 14, 2009. 6:17 AMDoubleagent
says:
Billy looks like Jay Leno. Anyways, nice job.
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