Janitor Girls (2019), Yvette Massenghoul

“There’s always too many people in the lobby,” the Manager named Britva said. “Can’t have riffraff millin’ around at all hours unless they’re buying stuff, or eatin’ and drinkin’ in the restaurant, or booked into a suite or something. If they’re just lookin’ at pictures on the walls, it’s a total waste of humanity and time.”

Hotel managers appreciate art differently.

“That last show you curated, well, we’re kinda the victims of its success,” the Manager named Kruvvy said. “Gangs of nobodies feel entitled to waltz in off the street to stare at pink stuff.”

“So what we need you to do is mount a smaller kinda exhibition, and not in the lobby.” The Manager named Gulliver said. “Like dynamite that packs explosive, exclusive appeal.”

There are no small exhibitions, only small artists. But I but didn’t say this. The managerial class couldn’t have known, but the next show was already lined up. “Sure, no problem,” I said.

“Great.” Manager Britva lit a cigar, although the Kranepool’s a No Smoking establishment. “Do it, like, soon. We’ll spread the word up n’ down the VIP list. G’wan now, git.”

“I always thought he was queer,” Manager Gulliver whispered, just after I’d shut the office door behind me.

People have such strange preconceptions about other people.

The idea for the new show had come, like the best ones usually do, during the flow of an afternoon’s endless stream of set n’ curls, dye-job touch-ups and split-ends snips. Great artists can make small pictures, but the opposite is an illusion.

East Berlin Afternoon (2019), Margaret Tuesday

The show was installed in the janitorial closet on the Kranepool’s 13th floor. Tiny pictures covered the dirty walls.

The snobs swarmed. They packed the claustrophobic gallery, swilled free champagne. The show sold out in ten minutes.

The lobby was a ghost town that night.

The Managers were pleased.

Highland Avenue Driveway (2019), Ike Sleever

Sticky Floor Treatment (2019), SheLa Burnston

Note: all works shown much larger than actual size.

***

Mister Kevin presenta una piccola mostra

“C’è sempre troppa gente nella hall”, disse Manager Britva. “Non sta bene avere gentaglia sul posto a tutte le ore se non occupano suite o mangiano e bevono al ristorante o comprano roba. Se stanno a guardare quadri è solo uno spreco d’umanità e di tempo”.

La classe manageriale apprezza diversamente l’arte.

Crepuscolo a Berlino Est (2019), Margaret Tuesday

“Siamo vittime del successo dell’ultima mostra che hai curato”, disse Manager Kruvvy. “Le nullità entrano per bearsi della roba rosa attaccata sulle pareti”.

“Devi fare una mostra piccola, e non nella hall”, disse Manager Gulliver. “Roba che attiri un pubblico esclusivo”.

Non esistono piccole mostre, solo piccoli artisti. Ma non lo dissi. Quei manager non potevano saperlo, ma la prossima esibizione era già stata organizzata. “Certo”, dissi. “Nessun problema”.

“Grande”. Manager Britva si accese un sigaro, malgrado il Kranepool sia un locale No Smoking. “Fallo presto. Intanto passiamo parola sulla lista Vip. E ora sparisci”.

“Ero sempre convinto che fosse gay”, sussurrò Manager Gulliver, poco dopo che avessi chiuso la porta dell’ufficio.

Certa gente si fa strani preconcetti sulle altre persone.

L’idea per la nuova esposizione era arrivata, come al solito, tra messe in piega, sciampo e pettinature. Grandi artisti possono fare piccole opere, ma non il contrario.

La mostra venne allestita nell’armadio per le pulizie del tredicesimo piano. Le minuscole immagini coprirono le sporche pareti. Sciamarono gli snob per otturare la claustrofobica galleria e bere a scrocco champagne. L’intera esibizione fu svenduta in pochi minuti.

La hall quella sera era piena solo di fantasmi.

I manager erano contenti.