A BULL ART MARKET
The Cutting Edge Gallery found its rhythm as an art force. Excluding Marsh, all the gallery artists prospered. The big draw was the two wunderkinds: Yellowhorse and Lendskip. Their charismatic pull allowed the other artists to get exposure they would never have had. Bernard kept Marsh happy by giving him his own area in the gallery with great lighting, fancy lettering on the wall, and a small well-done book simply titled “Death Embraced.” Marsh loved to talk about his work to those who had the stomach for it. He rarely sold a book and often Bernard had trouble just getting people to take one for free. Marsh never seemed to worry about sales. When he would start complaining, somehow one of his paintings always seemed to sell. Pressure off.
Bernard only put out 40 percent of what his two wunderkinds produced. The rest he stashed away. This created the perception that inventory was nonexistent, which led to a clamor for pieces by the collectors. Bernard was buying outright all the works the two artists made, a rarity for the art world. Bernard kept both artists’ money in an account he controlled, and doled out money as they needed, which was rare as neither had any real wants. By promising to purchase all of Willard’s work, Bernard convinced Willard to sign an exclusive for all works produced. As with Lendskip’s contract, a power of attorney was snuck into the small print. Willard, whose first language was Diné, never understood the implications. For Bernard, the clause was a long-term insurance for if and when it was needed. With a partner like Fredrick, one had to be prepared. Bernard had no idea at that juncture what dire circumstances would trigger that clause, and how soon.
It had been two years since The Cutting Edge had stolen Willard from Bloom’s. Willard’s prices had gone up five-fold. Amazingly, Yellowhorse didn’t increase his production, even though he had every piece sold to Bernard. He only painted what his creative juices would permit. Bernard decided it was time to take his two protégés—and himself—to the next level: Art Basel in Switzerland.
Getting The Cutting Edge Gallery into a major contemporary show was a coup. The fact that he had shown Warhol and Basquiat while they were both alive qualified Bernard as an important dealer, and the fact that he had been able to acquire two hot young artists of immense talent solidified his place. The only problem was what to do with the ever-present horrible Marsh.
The gallery was still technically Marsh’s, or at least the business license and lease said so. The reality was that Fredrick could care less about the business other than the power it gave him over Bernard. Originally Marsh had said he would turn it over to Bernard once Bernard’s non-compete clause had expired with Brit’s Fine Art, but when that time came Fredrick refused. Bernard had considered leaving and starting a new gallery, but Marsh’s money and the fact that he didn’t seem to give a shit about any profits from the paintings sold made it impossible to leave. Besides, most of the legal risks fell on Marsh’s shoulders. Bernard finally decided it was safer to just keep banking the money in his own account and not worry whose name the gallery was in. As long as Marsh wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass and didn’t kill anyone, he could deal with the occasional complaints from Marsh about his stagnant career.
Art Basel would change the balance of the gallery’s power, and ultimately all of their lives.
For Bernard, it started out as business as usual. Only two artists were needed for the coveted Art Basel booth and neither spot was for Marsh. Excluding Marsh on the most highly publicized event The Cutting Edge had ever attended would not be easy.
Luckily for Bernard, Fredrick did not fully understand the importance of the seminal fair. He had heard of Art Basel and knew it was an international art show, but didn’t seem to realize the terrific exposure artists could achieve at the world’s greatest contemporary art show. Fredrick’s main focus was what New York thought of his work.
The best way to keep Marsh out of Bernard’s hair was to give Fredrick his first ever one-man show, an event that would just happen to run at the same time as Art Basel. The entire gallery would be all Marsh, a frightening thought for Bernard and for the rest of humanity, but a necessary one.
Another catalog was published presenting Marsh’s most grotesque images ever. Because all the important artworks by Yellowhorse and Lendskip were en route to Basel, the gallery walls and floor were free. Marsh had now decided he would be making sculptures in addition to his paintings. The sculptures were of skinned human replicas. Their extreme nature bothered even doctors. The show was so graphic that Bernard was forced to put up a large disclaimer before one could enter the gallery, which read: “The following artistic creations by Fredrick Marsh may be deemed unsuitable due to their extreme graphic nature. No one under 18 allowed, unless accompanied by a legal guardian.” The sign, which Fredrick opposed at first, was finally OK’d after Bernard explained that people love what they are told they should not see and how it would help generate a huge buzz. Of course Bernard hoped for just the opposite. He wanted the disclaimer sign to read, “This shit is grotesque. Avoid if possible. The true artists will be back in one month. Till then stay the hell away, trust me!”
However it read, Bernard hoped the warning would scare off clients while he was in Switzerland, and the Art Basel sales would be over the top to help pay for Marsh’s revolting catalog and the opening of the doomed “Death” show. Secretly all of Bernard’s VIPs were sent cards on the Art Basel show. Marsh’s exhibit and catalogs were conveniently left off. The first book publisher refused to print Marsh’s so-called art catalog, as they were afraid of some irate person suing both Marsh and the publisher. On those catalogs they did send out, Bernard made sure that Sally placed a peel-off disclaimer on the cover to avoid litigious clients who did not like the free little death gift.
That Marsh would be in the gallery selling assured no sales whatsoever, but he would be thrilled he had the place to himself and his beloved cadaver pieces. Bernard hired a part-time salesperson, Darren, to work with Fredrick and keep Bernard informed. Sally Smith and Bernard Phillips flew out four days before Art Basel to make sure all the artwork arrived safely and to hang the show, a big chore.
Craig Lendskip and Willard Yellowhorse arrived the day before the opening night festivities. Basel, Switzerland is located on the border of Switzerland, France, and Germany. Neither artist had flown internationally before so they decided to fly over together. The two had become close friends. Both appreciated the other’s expertise, as well as the fact that they were true to what they determined was their inherent calling. Neither produced many pieces, only works that had creative substance. Each had learned from watching the other in their adjoining studios. Like many artists, they had traded works. Yellowhorse gave Lendskip a complicated small piece called THE BLESSING. Lendskip gave Yellowhorse a medium-size single twine ball with seven little balls of varying size inside. He had titled it UNCERTAIN.
Any major art fair is a huge production. First you have millions of dollars’ worth of art, which all arrives at the same time. Over a hundred spaces have to be set up. The art must be delivered to the right booth without damaging it, and then everyone must prepare to sell to the 50,000 clients who attend.
Once the ordeal of readying the booths is completed and the clients are circulating, then the hard work starts. An art dealer’s job is similar to being a triage doctor during a mass-casualty accident. You have to be able to quickly distinguish those who are serious from the tire kickers. The years of juggling fruit had helped Bernard’s brain make those fast evaluations. He innately could recognize wealth and power. The aroma of Chanel No. 5 and new leather spelled money.
Individuals with extreme wealth have a peculiar disposition that says, “I made it.” Unless one has spent time with the ultra wealthy, it is hard to explain. Bernard had it down. Dress was not important; it was only the accessories that mattered. A great watch, billfold, purse, hat, or shoes. The rest could be an eclectic mismatch of clothing worn with an Augusta golf hat. But always there was a subtle sign: the Rolex watch or Gucci purse.
Wealth does not try to show these things off. They are simply a part of everyday life. The best is a given. This includes the art in one’s home, jet, or ship. A potential buyer may only look for a few minutes or even seconds before making a decision worth millions. If the dealer can recognize their tell and then add just the correct words of encouragement, the piece sells. It takes practice, like juggling. Push too hard and you drop the ball; too slow, you miss. Bernard never missed a ball or a sale.
The first night of the show, a four-day run, was a complete sellout except for the one unnoticed Marsh painting tucked on an outside booth wall. Fredrick had insisted on being represented in absentia at the event. Bernard brought the smallest, most inoffensive work by Marsh, an older painting done back during his Boston years. He explained to Fredrick it was more important to keep his most current fresh work with his one-man show so as not to disappoint his fans. Of course there weren’t many fans of Marsh’s in the first place. Bernard had hired actors again to visit the gallery periodically during Marsh’s “Death” show so as to make sure he didn’t decide to make an appearance at Basel unexpectedly and fuck up his event.
The Basel booth was 20 feet wide by 15 feet deep. Sally and Bernard had turned the small space into a cozy gallery setting, with just enough room to navigate easily. In the center was a 10-foot long jet-black pedestal, which Bernard had ordered just for this show. On top were smaller slate-gray pedestals of varying heights and widths, all perfectly spaced. Each had one of Craig’s magnificent twine sculptures precariously perched upon it. There was plenty of room between the sculptures so numerous peering heads could easily maneuver between the little balls to view them from every angle. The varying heights of the pedestals made the overall composition of the sculptures take on a living quality, as if the large base was infinite space and the individual balls were planets in the universe. Each sculpture had two individual halogen spotlights placed so they illuminated the entire structure.
The rest of the booth’s walls held the Yellowhorse paintings, which were all the same size, 50 X 40 inches, done as a series. It was called MY LIFE, 1-12. The pieces were sequential and represented what Yellowhorse described as his life from the beginning of his creation to present, his growth as a human. Bernard decided to gamble and sell it as a set, similar to how Warhol had originally sold his Soup Cans. Each painting had a small numeral bottom right that corresponded to a succinct dissertation Sally Smith had written on that particular painting in the series. The title MY LIFE was stenciled in red on the back panel.
Opening night at Art Basel is about who is seen and what is the hot booth. For anyone fortunate enough to be in the sweet spot of a major art show, it can only be compared to winning an Olympic medal. The Cutting Edge had won the gold. The crowd’s energy was centered on the booth. Word quickly circulated that the two artists at the newcomer booth, The Cutting Edge, were not only amazing but the artists were in attendance. They achieved instantaneous superstar status. Sally had to limit entry to 10 collectors at a time to view the booth to avoid toppling over Lendskip’s pieces. Seeing the crowd gather reminded Bernard of Bloom’s just a few years back and he chuckled to himself at how far Yellowhorse had come. No dealer would be stealing his artists; he wished his father were alive to see the spectacle.
A billionaire oilman from Oklahoma who had flown in on his Gulf Stream directly from Tulsa, pushed his way into Bernard’s booth and yelled, “Y’all, mark that black groupin’ sold, you hear.” He then had his assistant write a check for the $1.2 million-dollar price tag for the sequential MY LIFE. He shook Bernard’s and Yellowhorse’s hands, and announced he would send his jet to pick up the pieces at the end of the show and if Yellowhorse wanted, he could fly back with the paintings and hang them in his corporate headquarters. Yellowhorse declined politely, his hand still throbbing from the overzealous oilman’s vice grip.
Craig Lendskip had seven important complex sculptures, nearly an entire year’s work. Bernard limited sales to one twine sculpture per customer, which only added to the demand. Over 50 names were taken over the three-day period from individuals who wanted to be on a waiting list for Lendskip sculptures.
The highlight of the show was when Art Forum, an influential art magazine, interviewed Bernard about the show and his huge success. They took numerous photos of the booth and of the artists. Marsh’s name somehow never came up. Of course Bernard helped make it happen by having Sally hand-deliver invitations to the magazine’s editors at their Basel hotel. The New York Times, which always follows Art Basel for its readers, got wind of Art Forum’s article and they decided to do a piece on the dynamic odd couple of The Cutting Edge Gallery for that Sunday’s art section. Bernard worried that Fredrick would not appreciate reading about the gallery’s other artists and not himself. The paper, however, believed that it never hurts to scoop a major art magazine, and the art reporter at The New York Times had been writing about Willard Yellowhorse since the artist was in Santa Fe. In fact, that was what had motivated Bernard to go there in the first place. Bernard had a bad feeling about this New York Times article, but he couldn’t really stop the reporter. As it turned out, Bernard was right to worry: this story would put energy into motion that would drastically alter all their lives.
No one ever asked about Marsh’s painting until the day Bernard packed up. He was almost out the door when the show’s manager came frantically running up. Bernard had forgotten a painting on the outside of his wall and the manager had noticed it. Bernard simply took out one of his business cards and on the back of it wrote the address of a storage unit and said, “Ship it here and please send it on a slow boat. No hurry and don’t spend much on packing material. Any used art box will do and don’t insure it.” Then he turned and walked out of the show, thinking to himself, “If I could only get rid of all Marsh’s paintings that easily. Artists do die suddenly; just look at poor Andy and Jean-Michel. Maybe Marsh might have an unfortunate accident.” A smile came over Bernard Phillip’s face at his perverse thought.