Welcome to Wet Paint in the Wild, the freewheeling—and free!—spinoff of Artnet News Pro’s beloved Wet Paint gossip column, where we give art-world insiders a disposable camera to chronicle their lives on the circuit. To read the latest Wet Paint column, click here (members only).
Man, it’s a hot one. But thanks to Joel Mesler, there’s a new way to beat the heat in New York City: The art dealer-turned-artist has created a pool party smack in the middle of Rockefeller Center. To accompany his solo show at Lévy Gorvy Dayan, on the Upper East Side, Mesler created a piece of public art for all to enjoy, and I heard that its unveiling was quite the spectacle. Care to see it through the artist’s eyes? Let’s take a look! —Annie Armstrong
I used to be a life-half-empty kinda guy. Now, I’m not sure what I am—but I do know that I am grateful, and I know that the life I’m living is a gift and a blessing.
In today’s America, what I find truly nice is luxury—and luxury comes in many forms. I think of luxury in situations from childhood—like throwing a temper tantrum with your parents and knowing they will always hug you afterward because they love you unconditionally. And also because they’re kinda stuck with you. That’s a luxury to me. My luxury is in knowing, in many ways, that I am still a troubled youth riddled with trauma. And I know it’s time to close the chapter on this element of my own storytelling.
My show at Lévy Gorvy Dayan—my opening, my gathering—was and is the beginning of what I hope is a celebration of life’s luxuries and joy, in its pure form, which we experience when we’re young. It marks the birth of a new phase that starts with the man in the mirror. It starts with me—not mom or dad, or you, or him or her. And it asks the question: What can I do to make this place better? How can I bring a luxurious feeling of joy to the world?
This is Xan. Sometimes people can occupy so many different roles for an artist. As a retired art dealer (thank heavens), I know that an artist before an exhibition can crack, a bit like an egg. While planning an exhibition, an artist will have personal roadblocks, so the art dealer must pick up the phone and say, “Everything will be fine,” “It’s okay to be feeling these feelings,” and, “It’s okay to cry in the kitchen.” Other times, an artist will make terrible art, and it’s the role of the art dealer to remind the artist they have better in them without squashing their ego. It’s not easy being an artist, but it’s also not easy being an art dealer. Thanks, Xan.
I hung some of my new clown paintings in a dark room on the first floor. I keep the door closed most of the time because, well, they are paintings of clowns.
I’ve been using this new shampoo recently. I’ve noticed that it’s giving my hair more body.
The day before my opening, I read from my new book, Kitchens are good rooms to cry in, to some of the gallery’s staff and partners. I enjoy reading to adults when they are present and paying attention. Most seemed to enjoy the reading. I imagine others didn’t, but they never told me to my face.
People gathered during the opening of my exhibition. They took pictures and looked at my beach balls and balloons. It felt very positive, like a warm hug from someone you trust. It was my night to shine, and I shined bright!
It’s always a gift to meet people that enjoy my art. As I’ve grown in age, I’ve come to believe that I make art more for other people than for myself. When I was younger, I wanted to tell people things. Now, I really enjoy the communication and exchange that comes through my work—that holds so much of the value.
There was the smell of pastrami that night. It wasn’t glatt, but there was no mixing of life and death, to be clear.
Sometimes we all need a little bit of courage.
Here are people seeming to enjoy themselves during the opening. That’s Brian Boucher in the foreground. I’m not sure if he had any pastrami, but if he did, I’m really hoping he enjoyed it, and had it with the mustard.
“We learn more by seeing someone play good tennis than by reading a book about how to play good tennis.” —W. Timothy Gallwey
Later on, the ice cream truck rolled up. They had dairy ice cream as well as vegan options. I think it’s important to be inclusive, and not exclusive, when it comes to dairy.
I love you.
As the sun set and the night sky appeared, the band Zusha began to play music. The blessings and the light that they provided turned the hug of the opening into a blanket of warmth. I didn’t realize how badly I needed it. We all can use a hug more often than not.
Rabbis, rainbows, and joy. Why? Because children are our future. I am not, I am old now. When people like me show at galleries like this, it’s a sign that things are different for me.
So make room. When the kids become the parents, one party ends and another begins. I take Ozempic and Lipitor to keep me alive, but it’s better than alcohol and cocaine.
That’s Nate Freeman from Vanity Fair. It’s hard to tell because we forgot to use the flash.
Thank you, Maggie! And thank you, G-d, for my life today. And remember, if they are running you out of town, get to the front of the line, and make it feel like a parade.