Open To: All
Location:Â The Gagosian Galler
Itâs not campaigning in the most blatant use of the word. She has no intention, no obligation, to schmooze or make nice with the familiar faces of New Yorkâs elite, but her presence still had some of the invisible weight of an assignment. Visibility was everything. Absolutely imperative to the continued role her firm played: eloquent, aspirational, protectors of justice rather than harborers of destruction.Â
For every ounce of controversy her work, her clients, garnered, she had to shine brighter, friendlier. And sheâd drawn the shortest straw. âHis work used to scare me, as a kid. Even his portrait pieces ⌠All the colors, the shadows, felt so ⌠Ruthless.â Her mother loved the baroque period, haunting their living room with the lower-end likes of Caravaggio, Poussin, Rouholamin. The smile she flashes to her newfound company is a smooth meld of warmth and tempered embarrassment, amusement.Â
âwill you be bidding?â
âOh yes.â Vanessa nodded, clearly knowing that in fact she is not going to be bidding. Not like she could afford any of the paintings in attendance with the salary of a detective has, nor does she have the taste in art other than knowing Van Gogh. âThey would look great on my shower wall.â She jested, a hint of a playful smile on her face. âOf course, it would clash with my ten-thousand dollar rug but thatâs easily replaceable.â
âHow about you? Anything you see to your fancy?â














