vanessa beecrofts preformances, with the thin models, the gucci bikinis, the high heels- all of it seemed to me masochistic, not criticising the world in which they live, but a desperate class scrambling.

they were too thin, too ugly, too obvious, and too ephermal, she was frightened of photography and documentation and not in the same way as 70s body artists were fighting corporate power.

she hated to be photographed, and since the models were her, or her more pretty, more thin, more hairless- ie perfect selves, they should not be photographed. but she wanted to be rich, and non document makes one poor.

i wondered what this was about, and the new yorker this week has a confessional about her lack of eating- she is stuck in permanat adolsecene, scared of food, and she is being rewarded for it.

neurpsios makes good art sometimes, and this article made it all seem like biography, which may be a freudian nesscity, but i am not sure it is useful here

side note- she is moving from the formations of models, to a look at the women in her family, she hates her husband, she lives in the middle of the woods off long island and not the brainard/o hara/de kooning/warhol/pollock neighborhood./

question: what does the peice that featured sailors on the intrepid mean ?