Gallery Man

Mischa Trubs, contributor

A few years ago I was fortunate enough to work at one of the most prestigious art galleries in San Francisco, the John Berggruen Gallery. I was fired three months later for overheating my boss’ Hot Pocket in the microwave. In his defense, it was a deluxe Hot Pocket. During my time at the gallery I learned that I have no idea how to value art, because the art that I thought sucked turned out to be worth millions of dollars, and the art that I could get high and stare at for hours was quickly hidden in the attic like the secret deformed son that no one ever wanted to talk about. (Though, the painting still ran for upwards of 35k.)

I might never truly see art as the real connoisseur sees it, but everyone is an artist in their own right. Half a year ago, I sat in a bar watching the game. I randomly started drawing the bartender on a napkin, and she fell in love with my napkin art. It wasn’t sexy but goddamn, it was art. I posted a Facebook message asking if anyone wanted me to draw them on a napkin, and before I knew it, dozens of people were asking me to do just that. Some people might have gotten a little offended, but what the fuck did they expect from a star napkin artist?

I was on fire and I couldn’t stop; napkin art was taking over my mind. My life took a wild twist as the napkin art popularity grew. Before I knew it, I was snorting coke-lines off of models’ tits and playing golf on yachts with new friends. I never dreamed that such a simple work would even be called art and earn me so much fame. But napkin art money made me rich and proud. Ok, I made up the glamorous napkin-artist life, but don’t spit on me for being a dreamer. And without further ado, here is some of the aforementioned commissioned napkin art:


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