Needless to say, the last few months in the art industry have been highly entertaining. There was William Powhida’s Brooklyn Rail cover last November, which picked apart the internecine machinations of a buncha high-powered types at the New Museum. Then, there was the announcement that a major commercial gallerist has been named director of a super mongo museum in L.A., an institution whose obscenely-rich trustees saw fit to spend its endowment into the ground. And then, of course, there’s Jerry Saltz’s Facebook, which is keeping the art establishment’s hairs on end wondering who the heck he’s gonna call a ‘dick’ next. In other words, there’s been a LOT going on. And most of it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

Which means that #CLASS — a think-tank about the art industry — organized by artists Powhida and Jennifer Dalton and hosted by the Winkleman Gallery, couldn’t come at a better time. This special project will turn the city’s artistic gaze from its navel to the art industry through a month-long series of events that will include a raft of insightful happenings: guerrilla gallery tours, frank Q&As with established art dealers, work sessions, panels, beer-drinking, chalkboard-writing, art-shredding, motivational speaking and even art yoga (led by me). In other words, the plan is to terrorize Chelsea for a month. (I’m not positive that this is indeed the plan, but it’s certainly my plan.) The best part: anyone is welcome to be a part of this. And it’s all FREE.

You can find the entire schedule of events at the dedicated #CLASS website. But here is just a taste of what’s to come:

• Sunday, Feb. 21, 4pm: The party gets rolling this weekend, so peel your ass off the couch and get down to Chelsea for the first official #CLASS social. An Xiao will serve as social media paparazzi paparazzo. :-p
• Friday, Feb. 26, 6pm: A session on ‘Bad Curating‘ by Stamatina Gregory and Jovana Stokic. (I believe that attendance is required if you work at the New Museum.)
• Saturday, Feb. 27, 2pm – 6pm: All kinds of juicy stuff is going down on this day, including a guerrilla gallery tour being led by William Powhida and a how-to on collecting by blogbuds James Wagner and Barry Hoggard.
• Sunday, Feb. 28, 5pm: Debbie Ainscoe leads a session in Second Life — from the UK. Nerdarrific!
• Wednesday, March 3, 2pm: ART SHRED is an on-site shredding service that will help artists and other participants liberate themselves of important works of art, meaningful love letters and one-of-a-kind photographs.  This session will be led by my partner-in-crime, Celso. If you have something of consequence that you would like to have shredded, e-mail him at celso[at]elcelso[dot]com. Walk-ins welcome.
• Thursday, March 4th, 4pm: A discussion/rant/12-step program about art school and the ivory tower, organized by Sharon L. Butler.
• Friday, March 5, 2pm: Art Yoga with C-Mon: Bow to the Art Industry. Get body and mind ready to navigate the hazards of the art world with a 75 minute yoga class geared at those who want to re-contextualize the nature of liminal space while remaining lithe enough to be considered for possible art/fashion spreads in T Magazine. Class will be led by yours truly, a certified yoga teacher (Om Yoga Center, class of 2003 — seriously). The session will begin with sun salutations to Marina Abramovic and quickly spiral downwards from there. Bring a mat and an open mind. Class capacity 18; first come first serve. Later that same evening, at 6pm, artist Nic Rad will present his ‘Celebritist Manifesto,’ a defense of celebrity culture that will make clear that James Franco is the most important artist of the decade.
• Saturday, March 6, 6pm: Rod Verplanck, a motivational speaker who, among other things, will teach you that “the very smallness of your ideas is the key to wild success.” Sounds like a must-do. (Courtesy of Schroeder Romero.)
• Wednesday, March 10: Again, all kinds of good happenings will occur on this day, including balloon-popping with Man Bartlett, a kindergarten class tour of Chelsea with Jennifer Dalton, a feminist tea party and a merciless ask-the-dealer session with Postmasters gallerist Magda Sawon in which she vows “to truthfully answer any and every question posed to her as long as it does not involve her weight, social security number or other people’s money.”
• Wednesday, March 17, 4pm: Art World as High School. Which class of retainer-wearing nerd are you? Find out with this helpful and informative session.
• Saturday, March 20th: Another full roster on this day, including art gift wrapping with Zoe Sheehan Saldaña, assessing assessments with important-sounding people from Princeton, and a closing-night event that’s all about ranting!!!

There’s much much much much more going on, and it’s all listed HashTagClass, so get over there already. Plus, you can read more about it at Art in America and the Wall Street Journal. Update: And ArtNet!!

It’s summer in the city and the social calendar here at C-Mon is packed! Last night, we managed to be the most unfashionable person in the room at a little soiree held at Marilyn Minter‘s studio to celebrate her upcoming artist ad campaign with MAC Cosmetics. Events were also held at the studios of painter Richard Phillips and illustrator Maira Kalman, who are also doing campaigns for the company. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it to those because the driver (aka, husband) was waiting to escort me off to a multi-course wine-laden dinner (assorted bread and cheese products, lubricated by invigorating quantities of Two Buck Chuck).

Even so, being able to freely roam around Minter’s studio was pretty badass. And so was ogling the Adonis-like waiters in pec-hugging T-shirts dishing out pink lemonade and ice cream. Though next time, dear MAC people, I sure could use a gift bag — with a little liquid liner in black.

Click on images to supersize, waiters after the jump.

Delicious colors.

But not as delicious as this: ice cream, with colored sprinkly things…

…served up by buff waiters in tight tees bearing the image of Minter’s upcoming MAC ad campaign. Hubba, hubba.

Minter’s studio had a lounge area that was equipped with good couches, lotsa art books, a TV (dispensing MAC marketing, of course), vag art, a Jeff Koons ceramic dog and a killer Sigmar Polke piece (off camera, behind the plant — sorry, I couldn’t get a clear shot). This is a spot I could seriously hang out in.

Notes to self.

Party people.

The artiste’s snazzy silver sandals.

Take one dead shark. Add a submerged coffin. Throw in a Jeff Koons-designed yacht. What do you have? A Matthew Barney extravaganza on the Greek Isle of Hydra, a renowned, car-free artsy fartsy hideout where everyone who is anyone goes everywhere by foot or burro. Hosted by collector/industrialist/Koons yacht owner Dakis Joannou, the performance/party/shark roast combined various events into one hyperreal Mediterranean spectacle.

The first installation was in a former slaughterhouse on Hydra’s Mandraki Bay, where Barney and painter-of-the-minute Elizabeth Peyton collaborated on a little event called Blood of Two, sponsored by the Athens-based Deste Foundation Center for Contemporary Art. Sadly, it did not involve fileting Björk. But it did involve getting up at dawn to watch a bunch of local workers dredge up a glass coffin from the Aegean that contained a Peyton-painted portrait of Barney. (So meta!) After the ceremonial lifting, said coffin/vitrine — very Jules Verne — was carried along a rocky path to the slaughterhouse, where the artsy jet set could admire its contents. Naturally, the Barney/Peyton team filmed the whole parade, which mimics a local Easter event in which an icon is carried into the sea and out again. (So culturally relevant!)

Accompanying the procession? One shark, dead, to be sacrificed to the ravenous culture vultures at an evening reception. This consisted of about 500 attendees sitting at the longest table we’ve ever seen (seriously, you couldn’t see the ends from the middle) all of whom diligently gnawed on the charred member of the phylum Chordata in the name of art. Naturally, it tasted like chicken. OK, not really. We didn’t eat the shark. There wasn’t enough to go around. But I’m sure it was delicious. Especially with a little tsatsiki on the side.

To read more on Matthew Barney’s shark party, check out The Moment, ArtForum and Art Observed.

Click on images to supersize.

Scenic Hydra.

The area hadn’t seen this much excitement since the Peloponnesian War. Everyone was up at dawn to watch the coffin dredging!

The coffin arises from the deep.

Cue the media scrum.

The rocky walk from Hydra’s slaughterhouse to the annex-by-the-sea.

How cool would it have been if it had contained Damien Hirst? The mind reels.

As the sun set, it was time to retire from the slaughterhouse and get ready to party.

Here, Mr. Barney himself, casually clad in denim shirt, chit chats with one of the VVIP guests.

The shark: “I think we overcooked it. Get the A1.”

Getting ready to nosh, at the world’s longest table.

And nosh we did…into the wee hours.

All the while, Daki Jouannou’s yacht bobbed serenely in the harbor. Au Revoir, Mr. Jouannou! We look forward to nibbling on some other form of marine life next year!

Bonjour! Last night, we attended the premiere party for the new film Guest of Cindy Sherman at the last minute request of C-Monster, who was temporarily indisposed. Lucky for you, we happened to be in town and tore ourselves away from our favorite local haunt (a place where you can enjoy a delicious Vesper cocktail and are still permitted to smoke!) to cover the proceedings. 

The premiere party for GOCS was held at Tailor, in the mythical land of SoHo, which at one time was synonymous with glamour, art and fashion and is now akin to power walking through a suburban mall, replete with food courts and Z Galleries.

We arrived promptly at 8 p.m. to guarantee a minimal wait at the bar. The party, unfortunately, was co-sponsored by a “vodka” brand that shall remain nameless. Let’s just say we were forced to drink several Cape Cods in order to feel even remotely interested in the proceedings…

It certainly wasn’t for lack of interest in the evening’s raison d’être, Paul H-O –- the subject and co-director of the film, who was recently interviewed and profiled by C-Monster on this very blog! He was decidedly the most interesting person in the room, working the press, basking in the flashbulb glow, bussing his female friends and fans…and genuinely appearing to be enjoying himself.

Would that we could have enjoyed the setting as much as he! The celeb turn-out the media alert had promised us, was — how shall we say this — non-existent. And while we kept hearing rumors of hors d’oeuvres, they clearly didn’t make it past the kitchen door.

We looked forward to seeing the promised celebrity attendees — especially after the press release had thrown out names such as Oscar winners Philip Seymour Hoffman, Anna Paquin and Chris Cooper. Not to mention John Waters, Chloe Sevigny, Michael Stipe and Miss Universe Dayana Mendoza!

What did we get instead? George Whipple, on his cell phone. 

Needless to say, our attention wandered.

Let’s start with the décor: A palmed down mix of Weekend-Cabin-Getaway and Pottery Barn-Retro-Chic-Stolen-From-Parisian-Flea-Markets. There was something eerily familiar about the motif, but we couldn’t put our well manicured finger on it.

On the back wall, next to the bar (a location we became intimate with), we found a curio case that would make the Kevin Spacey character in Se7en proud: an agglomeration of bric-a-brac and tacky tack, completely lacking in irony. 

Above our well coiffed heads, glimmered a trio of crystal-artichoke lights that screamed recherché.

The far wall was lined with booths, sparingly decorated in a symphony of earth tones. The pussy willows in a rectangular planter were the sort of objet one would find in a Fire Island summer share of A-List Gays. The leather-like placemat under the tealight, however, was too reminiscent of Buffalo Bill for our tastes. (Sidenote: We once knew a hat check girl in Montmartre who went by the name Pussy Willow. It didn’t work for her either.)

And speaking of the A-List Gays…we do love how they instantly migrated to the artichoke light fixtures. Exposure. Exposure. Exposure. 

By now, we had downed our sixth Cape Cod, and were on the verge of rummaging through our vintage Hermès Kelly bag for our Pez dispenser, since the aforementioned grub was clearly a myth…when it dawned on us! The Urban/Weekend Cabin motif, the amber glow and odd mixture of attractive and less-than-attractive was something straight out of an episode of Twin Peaks. We could practically hear the opening strains of Angelo Badalamenti’s memorable score. It was a perfect setting for what could have been for one of Cindy Sherman’s famed film stills!

Which led us to wonder: Could La Sherman be lurking in our midst, completely unbeknownst to us?

Could this gal on the far left be Cindy incognito? It would be a clever disguise and cunning tribute to Twin Peaks. She was certainly rocking the whole Peggy Lipton/Mod Squad vibe and as any fan of strong black coffee and pie knows, Peggy dished it out with sexy aplomb on Lynch’s creepy soap.

Or would Cindy opt for androgynous drag? Working the whole disaffected Billyburg denizen vibe demonstrated by this candidate on the far right? The glassy eyed stare, the slack jaw, the brand new vintage shirt… Could be.

Is it possible that our favorite chameleon would push the gender bending one step further and opt to go as frat boy-out-of-water? Clearly, Joe Boxer here was our prime candidate for our Where’s Cindy scenario.

Seeing that our job was done — after all, we had imbibed, schmoozed, spotted Cindy, paid our respects to the filmmakers (movie opens this weekend in limited release) — and were by now, shaking from starvation like an orphan about to be adopted by Brangelina, we grabbed our faux fur and strolled to the exit like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime.

While our evening could have ended on a more glamorous note, we somehow felt the slice of pepperoni and black olive en route to our nearest metro station was the perfect topper to the evening’s festivities. Greasy, but satisfying…à bientôt!

Just after Thanksgiving, we were fortunate to attend the first international celebration of Nautical Waste, the smelliest art concept party — or any party, for that matter — we’ve ever been to. There was a sculpture made of rotting mussels and other sea detritus. (Pungent!) And the whole party ended with a re-enactment of the Roman sea victory at the Battle of Mylae…in a fountain.

Now in its sixth year, Nautical Waste is an annual seafaring celebration that takes place on the Saturday night after Thanksgiving. Started in Brooklyn by artists Marie Lorenz, the creator of the New York Tide and Current Taxi, Matt Lorenz and Melissa Brown, the event is part performance, part exhibit, and a great excuse to trawl your local coastline for stinky crap — then spend an evening building stuff with it while drinking grog, quoting Melville and wearing a pirate’s hat. This year the flotsam and jetsam washed up in three separate venues: Brooklyn, Banff, and the American Academy in Rome, where Lorenz is a fellow in the visual arts.

Stay tuned for more waterlogged adventures, because next spring, we will accompany Lorenz down the Tiber in a homemade boat, hopefully after getting nautically wasted.

Click on images to supersize. More after the jump.

Ready to get grogged: This succulent vintage was produced by a Roman wine seller who sells his fine products out of vats.

Grog ‘n vessels: The two ships, in the back, lay ready to re-enact the Battle of Mylae.

The party gets started: Sailors and pirates in attendance! Stinky sculptures in the foreground.

Getting Melville: Crazy academics go postal about great white whales.

The party’s much-discussed cetacean: The Great Plastic Whale.

Things really got interesting when members of the Spanish Academy showed up with their own armada of wine bottles.

Avast, ye scurvy dogs: There were Caribbean pirates and Indian Ocean pirates.

Photographer and Rome Prize Fellow Matthew Monteith came dressed as that vortex in the Pacific where all the world’s plastic ends up.

After much grog was consumed, Rome Prize fellows  (a.k.a. the Romans and the Carthaginians) get ready to do battle on the high seas — a.k.a. the American Academy’s courtyard fountain.

Naval battle in progress: Duilius giving Hannibal a one-handed ass-whooping.

The aftermath: Time to retreat. And drink more grog.