After months waiting, news of the work arrived: a painting I had been offered no less than four times before
I was recently told I’d have access to an early 1970s Warhol under the most hush-hush, discreet conditions, whereby I would have the exclusive right to present it to just one person, and only a principal, not even the full-time curator of such collector.
After months waiting, news of the work arrived: a painting I had been offered no less than four times before. Hating to be the harbinger of bad news, I was compelled to inform the seller about the virus his hapless amateur photo had morphed into.
Just another typical art market instance of tail-chasing, where jpeg jockeys relentlessly shop art ad infinitum until sooner or later it ends up being unwittingly re-presented to the person who actually put it up for sale in the first instance.
In the process, the price steadily rose the more links (private dealers) were added to the chain, like water in a flooding basement.