VNDRZ *
"A bastard, a fucking junkie bastard, incapable, complexity. A failed musician, christ. But it destroys, as I have created. Destroys it. I do return to his sewer. What do you think he is? It's nothing alone, christ, nothing. Miserable. Miserable. "
Annina Nosei is vented by throwing out all the poison that had accumulated. He went up and down the large basement into a mess kicking boxes, with cans, newspapers, speaker. How had he dared, christ?
could not accept that this black boy, picked up in the subway in New York on a day that had killed the station's Madison with the 38th, he was gone, had left the study that she had offered him.
Yes, Jean Michel Basquiat, after a violent scene, destroying canvases he painted during the week, it was just gone.
had destroyed thousands and thousands of dollars was all the more cruel you could do with Annie. Losing money, throw Via dollars. A madness. To what worked? He had staked everything on him. The knowledge was made available, collectors, critics. The halo of unruly genius victim of a heavy family history? Very useful. Drugs? Had caused him all kinds. The music? A loud, always. Charlie Parker and Miles Davis are his heroes? Blow-ups in the studio, record collections available.
Annina understood that the boy transgressive, with all the weaknesses and defects in tune with the times, he could appeal to a morbid environment greedy unhappy heroes. In fact, his commitment was giving good results. She managed to sell a picture ten thousand U.S. dollars! Of course, we had gained good: so many dollars to Jean-Michel - who had never thought to see - and many, many dollars to her, Annina Nosei, the gallery of Roman origin.
circuit for months was a clique of wealthy because they invest in new paintings by Jean-Michel. Actions? No, what do you do the actions ... There is a young, great talent, come to know him, a few months his paintings will be worth ten times as much ...
She knew them well the new rich: ignorant and conceited, prepared to present millions to hang on a wall blacks monsters designed by Jean-Michel. Beginning to be fashionable. You could earn .
was skilled and educated her. They worked without giving up the sides and there was succeeding.
And he, ungrateful bastard, if it was gone.
Annina was a thin woman, brunette, nose straight, thin lips, small ears firmly attached, with a weakness for French designers. Unfortunately she had to dress to look like a young hippie. In its place was a must.
to forty-two years had arrived, but had struggled just to succeed. New York was a challenge. The gallery in Soho, the first born in one of those renovated houses with outside staircases , Breakfast at Tiffany , so to speak, had become a meeting point for critics, artists, collectors. Animation, music, gossip, alcohol, drugs. Everything held together with those people.
Annina offered this and more ready to compromise, transactions, complicity.
Annina did not like the paintings of Jean-Michel. In his penthouse on Central Park would have never hung a: childish signs, gruesome, ugly. Jean-Michel's obsession with not being white.
In Maurice on the black canvas is a skull that grinds his teeth in Self Portrait a black dwarf, ugly, aggressive, and seems to cry out his anger in the world, VNDRZ a black man, macabre that mimics the white jacket and tie.
was the transmission of fear like that? Possibly. Certainly not the "birth of a Neo-Expressionism" as Annie was able to write to some critics. Christ, how many words. But the words became dollars. Many dollars.
Finally, what mattered the life of a black boy? He was already a geek. Run away from home as opposed to a strict father, fled from houses correctional, intolerant of discipline, wandered in the underground with a group of misfits, and dirty walls with colors and signs of long childhood anxieties. He then signed SAMO graffiti and impressed million passengers.
What mattered the life of a black boy? What mattered to live your discomfort? It was enough to make him see the dollars, believing that it's an artist, to have power. He, who had not even power on himself. He who was rejected even by taxi drivers.
Dai, by Jean-Michel, paint. The music is very loud. Do not feel your despair.
Dai, by Jean-Michel, another black monster. The drug is there. Do not stop to think.
Dai, by Jean-Michel, another two, three, eight. Count all the things you have, you're not a victim. Do not you end up in pieces, Jean-Michel. You have it all.
You just twenty-one years, Jean-Michel.
You have only twenty-five years.
You only twenty-eight years.
Die, Jean-Michel, you die. not matter the life of a black boy.
Annina won and contemplate your undoing.
* Jean-Michel Basquiat 1960-1988
Milan, November 14, 2006
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