German yacht PARASITA moored in Hydra. Subtlety was never their strongest suit.
Cecily Brown walking from her stunning show of drawings at Pauline Karpidas’s gallery to her celebration dinner, flanked by force majeur gallerists Michelle Maccarone and Sadie Coles.
How to look at art.
Rachel Feinstein tells Juergen Teller in graphic detail about new research that reveals the actual size of the human clitoris.
Johnnie Shand-Kydd channeling Faye Dunaway in The Eyes of Laura Mars as he snaps Robin Vousden and Pauline Karpidas. When I do that I need an ambulance.
There are no cars on Hydra so this counts as a major collision.
Dimitrios Antonitsis and Jane Kaplowitz. These pimps be dominating the West Coast of Hydra. And my heart.
Oh no! Has the Fashion Fairy abandoned Ricky Clifton? He appears oblivious of the shock on Brice Marden and Hanna Liden’s faces.
The art world can be brutal. This was Ricky the next morning.
Jane snaps me and Dimitri.
A Rachel moment.
The divine Clarissa Dalrymple at Cecily’s show.
Cecily and friend.
Currins Sr. and Jr. discussing the importance of gingham and how to wear it well. One button wrong and you won’t know why, but your life will just change slowly until you look down and you are wearing a dirty purple fleece onesie, huffing glue in the parking lot of a Taco Bell.
Francis Currin and Finbar Craig-Martin. Finbar is showing his idea of matching—red spikes on Bowie’s hair, red spikes on star pants, and red spikes on pineapple socks. If Francis is at the Taco Bell, he can holler over to Finbar, who will be next door in the parking lot of IHOP doing bath salts in my old Hermès bathrobe.
Cecily Brown and Nicolai Ourrossoff regard Pauline Karpidas as she offers a toast to Cecily, her guest artist of 2015. Each year her speech ends with a passionate entreaty from the Book of Pauline: “DARLINGS!! LOOK AT US! ARENT WE ALL SO FORTUNATE? LIFE IS SO SHORT, ISN’T IT DARLINGS? SO ENJOY IT, ENJOY IT WHILE YOUR’E YOUNG DARLINGS!! BUT DON’T SMILE OR CRY TOO MUCH, OR YOU’LL GET THOSE HORRID LITTLE LINES…”
Cecily graciously thanks Pauline and everyone there with a speech of her own, somehow neglecting to mention looming death, or the worst fate of all: wrinkles.
Beauty Stephanie Hale and the Fire Eater, who was serving Neolithic Fun Fur Brazilian Flame Artiste.
Michelle and John agree: It is better to be the tea-baggee.
Goat peeved. Not invited this year. Last year he brought the other Mrs. K …
Me, Helen Marden, Hanna Liden, and Ricky Clifton. Photo credit: Jane Kaplowitz.
White linen tribe? No, I don’t care how hot it is. Just wear a thong and an important jewel. No excuses.
Is that a Rob Pruitt in your knickers, or are you just happy to see me?
Nicolai Ourrossoff, the Fire Eater, and Stefania Bortolami. I think they just fixed Europe.
Cat says, “Not this fucking art party again.”
Friday Night Fashion in the Port Report:
Spray tan: check
Eyebrow threading: check
The new MAC industrial strength face creosote, as worn by Donald Trump (Shade: Kung Pao Chicken): check
The new MAC industrial strength lipliner, as worn by Caitlyn Jenner (Shade: Slapped With a Salmon): check
Tattoo that says, Renounce your ego and find your aura, for without self-love there is no love at all: check
Outfit that says, Why is there a donkey in the bed? When did Terry Richardson get here?: check
Less fit BFF with Samsung phone: check
According to today’s Flaccid & Firm Index, there is tentative confidence as a result of Greece’s last minute deal to keep the euro.
How to turn a Soutine into a Bacon.
The hand of jeweler Elena Votsi. Her shop is the size of a chicken coop. From this coop, strange jewels are hatched, each one unique. Try on a ring, but beware—you are now exposed to the virus. I call this “Getting Votsi’d.” Her other hand, she leaves completely bare. Money doesn’t just count itself, you know.
Is it just me, or is Jesus eyeing that meat hook longingly?
Stefania Bortolami in typically impeccable form. She told me she once swam for Italy. “That’s fabulous! Did they know?” I asked her.
This is my and Hanna Liden’s Hydra residence. Next year we might put in a window. But we don’t want to lose our street cred.
Ricky Clifton keeps his moist extremities summer fresh with his Marlon Brando provenance tags. He’s gangsta like Minnie Pearl.
The economic situation in Greece has already impacted the country’s disenfranchised youth, some of who have fallen into serious crochet abuse.
Rubber driving loafers for those who need to adhere to the preppy handbook even while underwater. Rubber Volvo not included.
For we smashed their statues,
for we drove them from their temples,
even so the gods are by no means dead.
O land of Ionia, its you they cherish still,
its you their souls remember still.
When as August morn dawns upon you
your air is filled with vigor from their lives;
and at times an ethereal adolescent figure,
indistinct with swift stride,
passes over your hills
Dimitrios Antonitsis’s own work in his curated group show, GENUINE FAKE. The fabulous photo here is from his new series, Family Matters.
Speaking of genuine fakes, this is Not the Four Seasons. Too large to fit in Dimitri’s exhibition.
Jane Kaplowitz’s fabulous piece in Antonitsis’ GENUINE FAKE show. It’s a fact: If you want to express your down-home casual side, just put a slash through where it says “PRINCE” on your notecards.
My son Finbar and me celebrating his birthday at Marina Taverna, a tradition. At age 3, he jumped up on the wall here and frantically hailed a passing yacht, yelling “TAXI! TAXI! WAIT FOR ME! I’M FINBAR!” I knew then he was really my son.
Adelina and Egon von Furstenburg arriving in Hydra.
Clarissa Dalrymple swears by Tabasco. It makes a wonderful eau de cologne, just a dab behind each ear.
My goddaughter Maya serving 2015 Lolita.
A double cliché fucked up my cliché.
Channeling Côte D’Azur, 1968.
This man has just won the lead in Tara Subkoff’s upcoming Tzatziki Western.
This taverna has been closed for many years. Despite this, every evening the old men of the village congregate outside on chairs and benches. The context is no longer, but the ritual is stronger. The taverna’s closure was not acknowledged by the elders, as it was too hard to replace such a crucial and storied destination. At least, this was my theory. Then my friend Sotiris told me in his gentle way: “Typical bullshit theory! They get kicked out of the other tavernas. They have tried everywhere. They are bad for business! They sit for hours, they take up space, they drink, they don’t eat, and they are ugly old men. They are not poetic legacies. They are taverna closers!” I feel your pain, Margaret Mead.
Mamma Mia at the Hydra outdoor cinema. Is this a case of infinite regression? Or just plain old regression?
Voutingo eating watermelon on the boat is somehow essential Hydra.