Revenge of the Decorated aRT School: Interlude 1

REENA SPAULINGS FINE ART

165 EAST BROADWAY

NEW YORK, NY 10002

Dear, Reena

If I could have written more I would have. 

I wanted to... But something cut me up along the way.

Just who the FUCK are you? What are you Reena? What are we all? Do you exist?

‘I have not yet felt your feet on my streets… yet here is where you live. Inside of me. New York. Your city. Only the cold hard concrete of Reena Spaulings Fine Art. Is that all there is of you Reena?’

Are you perhaps a simulation… but what is SIM-ULA-TION?

Simulation. Simulacra. Hyperreality. Plato. Baudrillard. Eco. Deleuze. God. 
Help me understand.

Am I orbiting around in my residual nothingness, dammed to a life on incomprehension?

I don’t blame you Reena. Chewed up and spat out by so many people. Used, abused and cast aside. But could there not have been an easier way? You could have called, replied to my letters.

‘Have you ever been to Disney Land? Visited Las Vegas? I have heard of these places, constructed wonders of hyperreality. You people, you like to create, create and construct, attempting to understand your existence.’

Who put you here, was it God? Who is this God they speak of, does he understand the real, can He tell me if you exist? You, Claire Fontaine, JT LeRoy, you’re all the same. All different. But all the same. I wonder… Do they exist? Was it your desire to deceive me? Is that what you artists do? Deceive others? The Art Institution of deception. Is Plato right?

Loads of love, loads of novel.  And it’s been real.

                                                                                                                    ‘New York’ and Alana