Posted from: Beijing
I’d like to be the kind of person who buys art, I really would. Less in a “hmnah, one more Monet and my collection will be complete,” kind of way and more in a “A fractal forged from rhinestones, dried egg yolk and meticulously-harvested Aboriginal virgin’s tears, you say? Name your price, sir,” kind of way. I’m most particularly in the market for artwork that makes my office floor feel more like an intentional re-enactment of poverty in France circa 1522 and less like a pile of dirty clothes interspersed with USB drives.