Openings at the Tate Modern are a lot like openings at the Museum of Modern Art except there’s no whiskey of any kind, whereas at MoMA there is never fewer than three kinds.
“God that’s awful,” said a friend, of the Richard Tuttle commission, and later accused my girlfriend of only ever calling him (in New York) “that British guy.”
What a space! But why would you even get Tuttle for this? That’s what everyone wanted to know. It’s not his scale.
“That’s two major retrospectives down in 20 minutes,” said a new friend from Pelham Communications, who’d paid for the car over there, after we strolled through Malevich and Polke. “Let’s have another drink.”
Would I like to meet a Tate curator? He didn’t have anything to do with that, he said, pointing to the Tuttle, which is eye level from the platform on which you drink, one second after the introduction.
Well, the director of Art Basel, for one, loved it. Then he told me to hit him up for some other off the record opinions tomorrow.