It's happened to me again. I don't know how I let these things get by me--
Damien Hirst just sold every last thing he has ever even thought about making, and I wasn't there.
Last year I missed out snapping up that ancient skull (yes, a real, human skull, otherwise how could Damien have called it art?), covered with all those very real diamonds. That skull would have shone next to the Christmas tree. I placated my sadness by buying rhinestones (from flea markets for that touch of artiness, right Damien? Keep it honest, right?). I bought tubs of glue, and voila, my very own Damien Hirst.
But now, I've gone and missed out again. Where could I have been? Yoga class? Eating cereal in the dining room? Getting a speeding ticket?
I am particularly upset that I didn't get a chance to snap up that Golden Calf of his. I mean--what's not to love? A dead animal floating in formaldehyde. With those 18 carat gold horns and hooves. Oh, isn't that just so Damien? Quel genius, right?
I am somewhat mollified that because the thing went for $18.6 million, I probably would have lost out anyway. In these dire times, right?, I just wouldn't have felt one hundred percent spending that kind of change on a dead animal, even though I just love 18 carat gold anything.
I'm not sure where I would have put it either. In the dining room, to spark dinner party conversation? Out in the front yard to irritate my neighbors just for the heck of it? Next to my bed to insure sweet dreams? But does formaldehyde smell? That may have been an issue. I really prefer sweet peas next to my bed.
So anyway, Darling Damien's sale of EVERYTHING netted over 200 million dollars. It couldn't have happened to a nicer, sweeter, more giving, altruistic man, right?
Now maybe he can go away and learn how to paint a flower or two, since he's a genius artist, right?
It just boggles my mind at what could happen to a beautiful flower in the hands of Darling Damien.