Welcome to the Pall Mall Art Gazette, first edition. Click on the image above to see one of the back issues.
Rogue's Gallery
Before I left Sydney, I joined the merchant navy, he said. Is this going to be your life story, I asked him? No, we wouldn't have time for that, I have thousands of previous lives he said. I had no idea whether he was joking or exaggerating. If fact he surprised me, as I thought he was going to say, "Don't you want to hear my life story?", but he didn't. What was it's name I asked. What was who's name? The parrot. How did you know the cook had a parrot, he asked. And he didn't? Yes he did, and its name was Caroline. I was coming to that. And it used to sit on his shoulder, I asked? If it did I
didn't see it, he replied. Anyway, well the captain was an alcoholic,
and he accused me of stealing whiskey, he said. And you didn't? No of
course not, he answered. He was putting bottles of whiskey on my bill
and deducting it frommy wages, and drinking it himself. So hehad my gear put ashore, and said without paying me off, when we were in Newcastle. That's too bad, I said. It was tragic, he said, I'm a bit annoyed I didn't see it coming. Anyway I had a brilliant idea. Not a new design fortennis balls, I asked. No, its a magazine called "The Pall Mall Art Trader", but is does have a supplement called the "Tennis Ball." And wahat does it do, I asked? Well it just lists works of fine art, and copies of them, and it circulates to tobacconists, you know, hair dressers. I see, I said. People who wwant to trade a work f fine art, find a buyer, and fix a price, say 2 million over the existing price, and when the trade happens, all the purchasers and sellers of that work receive a payout. it may be $1,000, or $100, or $10,000, whatever. Fine art is earning 10% per annum at present. And it is just for hair dressers, I asked? Mainly, even the ones who work from home. Sounds complicated, I said. No it is quite simple really, it is just for women. I see, I said. How does it work I asked? It's all explained in the magazine, he
said. Now, say I have a painting on the wall of my hairdressing shop, and I have four girls working for me. And do you I asked? No, he said, I don't cut hair. O.K. And this painting, the sludge pool, has sold for $500,000.00. Not a very nice name for a painting, I said. No, but there is nobody in it yet. And there will be, I asked? The next version has a woman covered with duck weed in it. Sounds a bit slimy, I said. Anyway, he went on, the existing price is $100,000, and it is owned by my cousin. The new owner wants it, and has paid. OK, I said. The hairdresser need 10 girls who each receive $500, that $5,000. Yes, I said, and then she "hands it over" to the new owner, who also has 10 girls working for her. But not literally I asked? No, not literally. Do hairdressers, "work". No I don't suppose they do really. I said. So every new owner gets $5,000 when it is sold, and sometimes she may get $1,000, but all the names are written down. Hmm, I said. Ten owners, or groups and the price has risen by $50,000. It sounds like free money, I said. Nothing in life is free, he said. Cutting hair is unrewarding work if you ask me. And somebody did, I chipped in? He just looked at me. Anyway, he went on again, now the picture is worth $500,000, and how many towns and salons has it passed through? I don't know, I said. Thought so, he said. What happens to the painting now? It leaves the country, I asked? Possibly he said, you're funny. Thank you I said. Don't mention it, he said. Eventually the painting has done the rounds, and everybody who owned it has made $500. That's nice, I said. And it goes to the new owner whose name will be in the magazine. It could be Mobil Oil. And is it, I asked? Who knows, he said. Not me, I added. Me either, he replied. Then the owner pays the main salon owners, who then pay out to the previous owners. Sounds, easy, I said.
It is very easy, he said. The hard part is painting the painting, and finding someone who wants to buy it. Maybe Serena wants to buy it, I said. That bitch, he replied. I don't think she even pays for her own dinners. But there are some people out there who are fabulously wealthy, and would pay big money just to buy the right to buy the next big work of art, sight unseen. They sound very trusting , I said. Are you related to Marilyn Monroe, by any chance, he asked? Not yet, I said. Sounds too simple, I said, what is the catch. There is no catch, he said, and no disputed ownership either. The only coditioner is that no copyright transfers to any of the intermediate owners, but there are 1,000 copies valued at 100 ea taken off the front, and those prints will be available in a special edition of the Journal. Which sells for $100, I said. Do you think you will sell them? Eventually, he said. But I willnot be bound by verbal contracts, even though I don't mind if other people use them and try to enforce them. I'd like to see the details, I said. I don't think you should get involved with the details, he said, you're not smart enough, and this is complicated. You're best just stick to your tennis. I think so too, I said. Do you have any other pictures to sell, I asked. As a matter of fact,
he said, I do know of a Renoir, a copy of the Luncheon of the Boating Party, one of two, which is in the Phillips collection in New York, which could be up for auction. And I also know of a painting, probably somewhere in Serbiia, entitled Gladiolas, which could be for sale for a million Euros. And you painted them, I asked? The original one, he said, of the gladiolae, he corrected me. It was sent to the boss of Dragon Speech Recognition is Belgrade. She told me she was preparing carefully for her exams, for a junior position in a tax office, so she could earn enough to feed her two children. She told me she passed three, and failed on one. What she didn't tell me was that her boss wanted herto sleep with him twice, even though she was married, otherwise she wouldn't get the job. Rather than see her children stare, she took the job, even though I offered to send her money, and she didn't tell me that her boss gave her tickets to London on two occasions, to meet with a client. They also expected her to have sex with them, but she told them that she is not that sort of woman. Why then, did you agree to travel to London on two occasions, they wanted to know. And why did she, I asked? This was way back in 2006, I said, and my trust refused to let me have my money. I took the matter to the government, but they refused to listen to me even though I spoke to a judge in court about it twice, and documented all my concerns about it. Did she tell you this, I asked? No, it was simply a guess, he said. She only told me about her exam results, and I put two and two together. So you are making this up about her, I asked? She is not a threat to you, he said. You sound a bit delusional, I said.
Just because I believe in a God, who is a stranger to you, he said, doesn't mean that I'm necessarily wrong. You would be surprised exactly the amount of detail a clairvoyant can find out about an alleged crime, even down to the name, age and complete history of a dead person, from a photograph, without even looking at it. And you believe this, I asked. How can I talk to someone using my mind, if I am not properly trained, he asked. How do I tune out all the unwanted noise, except by meditation? I don't know, I said. You have delusions of grandeur, don't you? And you don't, he asked? You believe you are a world class professional tennis player. That's what I am, I said.
You don't have to worry about it, he said. I know the name of the man who was working with her boss, John Foster, but he denies sleeping with her. He's married with children, and denies being able to travel to Serbia. He used to be Pope John Paul on a previous life. And that is why I put her in charge of Dragon Systems in Serbia. I see, I said. You know, I said, I think you are completely insane. Well that is obvious, he said, you only have to call me nuts once, for me to get that message.
Did you hear about the man, he said, who lost some teeth, when the fake cigar he was smoking, exploded? How can a cigar explode, I asked? It wasn't a cigar, he explained. It was in the news recently. There were batteries in this device, and apparently they exploded. That's impossible, I said. Batteries cannot explode. You know that, and I know that, he said, but battries do not know it. Did it have a chip in it, I said? An electronic chip, he asked? It was an electronic cigarette, but why would they put a chip in a cigar? They are putting chips in everything these days, I said. Even my dog and my bank card have chips. Yes, he said,and thats a big problem, but different sort of chip. Why would they put a chip with more processing power than ten university professors inside a device to make artificial smoke? That's a very rude question, I said. Couldn't you think of another way of asking it? Easily, he replied. more