January 2010March 2010 

 

1 posts from February 2010

Feb 14 2010
He Went Pop Comments (10)

Invitation
IMG_4823 To most, today is Valentine's Day. To me, today is the first day of Mr. Brainwash's first-ever New York show (and only his second show, period). I first became aware of his work after spotting Spock and other iconic characters and stars (same diff) in Andy Warhol Marilyn hair, then investigated him more fully after his interesting cover for Madonna's Celebration album.

His work is not ground-breaking—to say he's influenced by Warhol, Keith Haring, Shepard Fairey and Banksy is an understatement—but his focus on iconic figures as portrayed with a pure-pop art aesthetic is irresistible for me. I've snapped up a bunch of his works and hope to collect many more.

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I dragged my partner, who's putting on a brave smile here.

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The artist emerges to pose for the Post. (And his fans.)  

IMG_4824 The first 300 attendees of his show—Icons, running February 14—March 31 at 415 W. 13th St. here in NYC—were promised free hand-finished screen prints, so I dragged my Valentine and we went with our two pals by cab. We had agreed we'd only be willing to wait two hours in the 32-degree weather, but wound up getting there at noon. As we walked up, we were #109, #110, #111 and #112, which meant we could have afforded to arrive far later. Oh, well, we figured we were safe this way.

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Give us our art.

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I look sooo bad here (talk about cheeks!), but the original was worse. 

The crowd was at LEAST half populated by scalpers who didn't give a shit about his work but had heard you could score a free print worth hundreds just for standing around. The rest of the people were in their 20s, 30s and 40s (mostly) and remarkably unfazed by the long wait. Probably the highlight was when Mr. Brainwash emerged to shake hands with everyone and take pictures with all who asked. He even signed some blank canvasses one bright fan had brought. He couldn't have been nicer, even if the scheme to get us to create a big scene by wrapping a line around the block for his show couldn't have been crueler.

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Mr. B escorts us in. 

Eventually, we heard the first hundred people were getting a bonus, which sucked because we just missed out. But worse, we weren't allowed in on time for no good reason. An hour late, as my toes began to die for good, he valiantly promised to get everyone in and stood at the door counting us off and patting us on the back as we entered.

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Some original works are for sale, but there is no gallery store. 

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