all things mau

Saturday nights in Downtown LA nowadays, tends to resonate “early adopter hipster”, with it’s clean dive bars and cramped $900,000 lofts sprouting like weeds amongst… well.. weeds.  We Angelinos are trying desperately to attach meaning and culture to the forgotten island surrounded by the oceans of the 10, 110, 101, and 5 freeways.

I walked through a graffiti art gallery off Main and 1st, in the island this weekend, trying to formulate in my mind what culture exactly is, and how you put a price on it.  I mean my fiance and I had to move out of our downtown loft in 2005 because rent became too expensive.  We moved to Santa Monica.  I’m not sure if you caught that last part.  We had to move out of hookerville, blocks away from skid row and the concrete LA river, and moved to beautiful Santa Monica, to a house with a porch (and bedrooms) blocks from the sandy beaches of Southern California… because the we couldn’t afford hookerville.  There is a leap in logic there that perhaps a real estate agent could attempt to justify to me, but I would merely laugh as if they were trying to explain why the sun actually rotates around downtown LA.

I attempted to put my focus back on the Gallery.  “ooh, that’s a nice piece, and it’s… DAMNIT WHY DOES IT COST THAT MUCH?!?!”  Now i’m back to the same question.  How do you put a price on culture?  In this case, art.

Why are these Spray Paint Cans, who look like they fell into the hands of an 8 year old girl, displacing the Barbie with which she was about to play dress up, and who has an odd premature understanding of Zapatista politics… worth $800?  Who does this artist think he is?

At the same rate, why am I willing to pay $60+ for a Kongol hat designed by London graffiti artist Insa, merely based on the fact that I, by chance, shared a pint of beer with him.  Ah… it’s becoming a bit clearer.  The art has become personal.  I’ve created a mini community in meeting Insa, and am now willing to support his endeavors and spread his “culture”.

And while I’m at it.  Why does my mother still have the paper towel dispenser I made in Junior High.  A janky, tastelessly kitchish, shoddy piece of woodworking, ready to fall apart.  It warms and melts my little heart to death.  To my mother, this piece of “art” is priceless.  The community circle here is blood.  No Bansky or Shepard Fairey would ever compare.

Oh.. I get it.  So culture is community.  You could have told me that.  I suppose if people keep buying $900,000 studios and said people stick their head out of their concrete framed doors to say a simple,  “hello” to their neighbor, the island of LA is ready to capture some of that elusive culture.

Speaking of Bansky or Shepard Fairey, here’s an interesting dissertation called, “Art Collecting for Dummies”, addressing why Bansky asking price has made a leap in logic much like downtown LA, Shepard Fairey’s work has remained consistant, much like Santa Monica.

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