A banana taped to a wall sold for $120,000 at a Miami art fair. Here's why it wasn't good.

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  • During the 2019 edition of the Art Basel Miami Beach art fair, a new sculpture by Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan sold for $120,000, instantly sparking a media sensation.

  • The reason? The sculpture, titled "Comedian," is nothing more than a banana — no different than the kind you might pack for lunch — duct-taped to a wall.

  • Amidst the media frenzy, "Comedian," was widely seen to be one big joke satirizing the foolish eccentricities of the art world and its ultra-rich collectors.

  • In reality, the joke's on us. Understood and analyzed within the larger context of contemporary art, "Comedian," fails as it only perpetuates the very object it aims to critique.

  • Read more stories like this on Insider.

What does $120,000 look like?

Sometimes, it turns out to be nothing more than a banana, duct-taped to a wall. At least, that's what happened this past week at Art Basel Miami Beach. The world's most notorious and media-friendly art fair, it brings together blue-chip art from many of the world's largest galleries with the glitz and glamour of the celebrities and influencers who attend. It is always a spectacle — in 2015, for example, crowds stood by and watched a woman get stabbed, thinking it was only an act of performance art — and this year's edition was no exception.

A number of artworks were bought for astronomical sums, but none captured the popular imagination as much as Maurizio Cattelan's new work, "Comedian," a sculpture comprised of a banana held flush against the wall by a piece of duct tape. Displayed in the booth of Galerie Perrotin, the artwork captured the world's imagination when, despite its modest materials, several of its editions sold for $120,000. It instantly became a media sensation. From appearing on the cover of the New York Post, to inspiring countless imitators and memes on Instagram, "Comedian" continuously rose in fame until its life was cut short: on Saturday, December 7, someone stormed the booth, dismantled the work, and ate the banana.

 

This act of performance art — the interloper proclaimed that he ate the banana as part of a performance titled "Hungry Artist" — did not actually "destroy" the artwork, however, since the piece is actually a series of instructions for display and a certificate of authenticity providing provenance and ownership. Though the gallery seemed dismayed, they promptly rehung the work with a back-up banana. Such antics only further stoked frenzy, and on Sunday, the last day of the fair, Galerie Perrotin removed the work from its booth citing security concerns. Even though the banana may have been gone, the spirit of the spectacle continued, and after its removal, another performance artist vandalized the booth, writing "Epstein Didn't Kill Himself" on the now-empty wall.

 

So what does it all mean? Well, not as much as Cattelan would like you to think. To those unfamiliar with contemporary art, it might at first be shocking, but in the context of Cattelan's own career, as well as the history of art generally, it's par for the course.

Maurizio Cattelan is no outsider. He's an established artist, well-entrenched in the world of Contemporary Art. His CV reads like an MFA candidate's bucket list, with past exhibitions at major museums and galleries across the world. Perhaps best known for his 2016 work "America," a fully functional, solid gold toilet created as a response to the election of Donald Trump, he built his career on playful, visually-engaging works that seem to poke fun at the art world and society at large. Seen in this way, "Comedian," is a comfortable addition to his body of work.

 

Within an art historical context, "Comedian" intends to further a lineage of works that challenge what art is, as well as its value. From Marcel Duchamp's readymades — especially the (in)famous 1917 work "Fountain" — to the appropriative work of artists like Sherrie Levine or Elaine Sturtevant, many artists have taken up this mantle. What defenders of Cattelan hope sets him apart, however, is his mastery with images and spectacle. In the case of "Comedian," though it seems ramshackle, it is a carefully thought out assemblage.

Bananas are, without a doubt, the funniest fruit. No one has ever seen someone actually slip on a banana peel, but the idea always evokes laughter. Beyond humor, Cattelan symbolizes the worthlessness of the work with ruthless economy by suspending it with duct tape. A crass material, duct tape is always meant to be more of a desperate, makeshift fix — something to keep a broken system running for just a bit longer — than a true repair.

The problem with "Comedian", however, is that it only acts to reinforce the tenets of the art world that it attempts to critique. There's nothing at stake in the statement it makes. Instead of opening a rupture in the facade of contemporary art, "Comedian" is a half-hearted, tiny gesture towards the critical. It's just a taste of the truth, only enough to provide comfort to the viewer that they know "what's really going on" — that the market-driven world of contemporary art is driven not by merit or quality, but instead by financial speculation — while stopping them from actually taking action. It sticks to the script, presenting the current system as fundamentally unchangeable.

In contrast, the 2019 Whitney Biennial offers an example of how critique can lead to action as part of a larger organizing effort. Following the publication of an excoriating statement by Hannah Black, Ciarán Finlayson, and Tobi Haslett that laid bare the complicity of the biennial's artists in defending Warren Kanders — a board member of the Whitney Museum of American Art and the owner of a company called Safariland that manufactured tear gas and other weapons used against protestors around the world — enough artists threatened to withdraw their work from the show that Kanders ultimately had to step down from the board.

Within the art world, feckless acts like Cattelan's allow everyone to carry on as normal, sustaining the status quo. There may be some who act in bad faith, their reasoning goes, but fundamentally, if there's space for a critical message like this — where the rich financiers are the punchline — then the system seems to be working. For the general public, the truth is that the whole art world is rotten. Here, "Comedian" is funny because it reassures the nonexpert viewer that they were right all along. If modern and contemporary art can appear confrontational, it's not because one doesn't understand the language, but instead because it's crooked and without any real meaning. As the artist Brad Troemel sarcastically states, this type of narrative provides "cold comfort for the unwashed masses."

 

I'll be honest: there's not much worth saving in the contemporary art world. What makes Cattelan and "Comedian" contemptible, however, is that their gestures towards critique only serve to continue it. It's a failure in form — any criticism that only perpetuates is object can hardly be said to be a success — as well as in content. "Comedian" attempts to mock the uber-rich collectors who buy it, but in actuality, they'll probably make a profit off of it as the work rises in value due to media buzz and museum interest in owning the works — both of which are factors contributing to price.  Cattelan as well has made a profit — likely around $60,000 given the standard 50/50 split between artist and gallery — and raised his profile. Other artists may make criminally large sums from their sales, but at least they don't pretend to be savvy satirists while doing so.

Though he may be described as a "prankster," "clown," or "court jester," Cattelan is no fool — he knows exactly what he's doing. To many, the banana seems like great troll, mocking the rich and pretentious who, like the proverbial emperor, are too wrapped up in their egos to notice that they're completely naked. Look more closely, however, and there's little to laugh at. The emperor may be naked but it's only we who are humiliated. Next season, nude will be the next big thing.

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