It's a little hard to believe but I reckon Charles Saatchi, the plonker of the London Modern Art world actually has a French cousin living in Bordeaux.
When we left London one of the benefits was that we would no longer have to read or listen to endless articles about how Charles Saatchi had done the world a favour when he gave the aspiring Damien Hirst a leg up way back when.
If its not bad enough that Saatchi has erected a gallery, named it after himself ( Of Course! ) then filled it with overpriced idiot friendly junk, he has also inflicted on the world a guy who suggests that a stuffed shark floating in a glass tank filled with formaldehyde is where it's all at.
Anyway we were free of all this nonsense once we hit Frog soil, at least that was until 1142 hrs this morning when we entered the front doors of the Musee d'art Contemporain.
I just have two basic questions now washing around in my head.
1) How in God's name has the Art Lighting Bolt managed to strike twice in our
lifetime?
2) it is time for me to reassess my option of Frogs at their art? Up until late
this morning I thought they were on top of their game.
3) Where is this Saatchi cancer going to strike us next? In Vevnice, Florence,
Berlin? Is any place safe?
I suppose I could do the old left-leaning British art critic thing and start waffling on about "new thought" or whatever. However, at the end of the day a couple of poorly carved wooden animal heads, a 1960's Simca with a two metre neon light tube stuffed in the rear side window, hunks of white cardboard stuck against a white wall and 0.20 x 1.50 x40.00 metre load of limestone rocks strewn along a alleyway, to my mind are just "take the mickey out of the punters" territory.
I fervently hope that the art director of this facility dies of boredom.
Cheers
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