Last night, Damien Hirst's The Golden Calf sold for $18.6 MILLION dollars.
The financial world is unraveling and the US economy is in ruins, so maybe $18.6 million dollars for a calf submerged in formaldehyde is a sound investment.
Glass Menagerie
Yesterday, Karly wrote some rockin' posts on animal furniture for Elle Decor, and on animal plates for our DC. When faced with the daunting task of following in her fantastic footsteps, I realized the only thing left to blog about was... animals. Real ones. I'm not even talking about the ubiquitous deer heads seen on every single wall in the country, but I am talking about real... animals. Sort of. Before anyone goes all PETA on me, let me just say (as my thin and poorly executed defense) that I am from northeast Texas, y'all, and taxidermy is part of my cultural heritage. People, just be glad I didn't adopt other quirks indigenous to that region, like flashing my Neocon credentials, or drinking moonshine. Which is actually kind of good. Not the neocon part. Besides, you know you want this:
Dutch design duo Idiots (their term, not mine) are the latest incarnation in a long line of taxidermy artists, and when I say "artists" I do not mean the nefarious creators of jackelopes and other such curiosities designed to finagle dollars from your pocket at the local fairground.
I mean, for example, the incomparable Annette Messager, hero to all artists of the collector persuasion, myself included:
Did I mention that I'm weird? Messager's insanity laden early 90's exhibition of taxidermy wearing stuffed animal heads is like the goth girl version of Mike Kelley's stuffed animals placed in compromising situations. (He did the cover for Sonic Youth's Dirty if you're old enough to remember it.)
More recently, Kelly McCallum has been tearing up the London scene with her intricate juxtapositions of brilliant metalwork and memento mori:
Who knew birds had clockwork hearts?
Back to the Idiots, whose conviction I find utterly convincing:
I have this empty spot in the corner that I just know this would fill brilliantly. The lime green embroidered "skirt" and black ruffled petticoats are so amazing that it becomes hard to look at this level of craft and feel grossed out.
Some more flights of fancy:
And one more charmingly feathered friend:
There's such an enormous amount of respect that goes into each creation that I feel like these little sculptures have been loved into life. Every detail, from the animals themselves to the beautifully blown glass, is perfect.
And then there's this:
What's the matter? Never seen a crystal encrusted decapitated deer before? Neither have I, friends, neither have I.
Wait, this is ostensibly an interior design blog, right? Well, then, design a room around this:
What would you do with this 17 foot long shark Damien Hirst eloquently titled, The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living? I'm afraid it's unavailable for anything but fantasy since Charles Saatchi already owns it, but we could ask, What Would Saatchi Do? WWSD? If your heart aches for a formaldehyde encased shark of your very own, you could always attend today's auction at Sotheby's of what may be the entirety of Hirst's personal collection, and it's sure to include some creepy crawlies. Don't forget to bring your $500 million dollars with you.
Random Post Generator
Kids, drinking is wrong. But sometimes it is a necessary evil -- for example, when celebrating birthdays. And sometimes drinking leads one to fall out of one's chair, thereby bruising one's delicate derriere, although one might forget that it even happened, save for the twinges of painful reminders while sitting. Which generally occurs from the hours of 9 to 5. And oftentimes one does not sleep well after a night of imbibery, thereby ensuring that morning shall come too soon and the day shall be hellishly long. And writing is the LAST thing one wants to do, as all that type type typing disturbs the lovely silence, and also because the cursor is dizzying. Eventually one is forced to seek out flashy means of entertainment, as one has the attention span of a gnat. Behold:
Little Joseph candleholders by Qubus please one. One fantasizes about plugging Little Joseph's head hole with multicolored candles, and one laughs.
One also enjoys all kinds of piggy banks, but one is especially enthralled by this piggy bank cast from a real suckling pig. One has read that piggy died of natural causes, and also that $10 from the sale of each pig shall be donated to the Humane Society. That makes one happy.
Actually, as a general rule, one likes pigs, and one also covets Karly's gold panther platter tables, so why not a gold pig platter table?
Conflict! One cannot have two tables, and one LOVES gnomes. One may or may not have had a David the Gnome fetish as a child... One also finds it funny that Philipe Starck designed a gnome table.
One does NOT want this table, as one is totally offended by the idea that a "Blackamoor" (foolish term courtesy of the seller... one would never be caught dead saying such things) should be forced to carry cocktails. One feels that whomever purchases this table is a bad person. Not that one is judgmental, or anything.
One's agitation is soothed by these multiracial baby hand soaps. One likes the tiny baby fist that appears to say, "Fight the power!" in tiny baby sign language.
One very much DOES want this bust of Lenin covered in traditional Czech patterns. One never realized how Lenin's facial hair makes him look uncannily Satanic, but one is entertained by his creepy visage in juxtaposition with the pretty pretty flowers.
One feels better now.