Receive Weekly Email and Text Message Updates:
Sign up for latest info on concerts, dining, promotions and more!
Go!

Related Stories ...

Most Popular

National Features >

  • Village Voice

    The Great Walls of Chinatown

    With the exception of the electric rice cookers, this Bowery tenement could have come straight from the Nineteenth Century.

    By Elizabeth Dwoskin

  • Houston Press

    Getting Off

    DUI attorney Tyler Flood wins 80 percent of his trials--even if his clients were 100 percent drunk.

    By Mike Giglio

  • Miami New Times

    Park or Die Tryin'

    From the homeless parking mafia to the meter fairy, finding a spot in Miami has taken a turn toward the surreal.

    By Gus Garcia-Roberts

  • City Pages

    The Baddest Men on the Planet

    Straight from the Sam's Club tire shop, Brett Rogers prepares to meet Fedor Emelianenko in mortal combat.

    By Bradley Campbell

SAM: Art Critics Love Jerks Like Maurizio Cattelan

Even if he does traumatize children.

By John Metcalfe

Published on June 19, 2007 at 7:40pm

Any art that traumatizes children is OK in my book. A museum guard says he recently watched a boy from a school group standing in front of Cheap to Feed, clapping his hands over and over in an apparent attempt to wake the dog up. I got news for you, kid: That dog ain't getting up. He's dead; his guts have been torn out and replaced with stuffing by artist Maurizio Cattelan. Why did Cattelan do this to his own pet? Well, for the same reason he made a sculpture of a squirrel that's committed suicide by gun, or a sculpture of Pope John Paul II getting knocked over by a meteorite. He's a jerk, you see, and art critics love jerks. Plus, this particular piece, aside from being a sly take on the tradition of still-life memento mori, is pretty funny. Wait until a break in the guards—illicit petting makes this one of the highest-patrolled areas of SAM, after all—and now watch: You can pull the dog's tail. Or make its little mouth move with your hands. Rrrf! Where're my bones? Oh, stop crying. At least the animal died of old age. Supposedly. With a 2002 auction price of $163,500, you can never be too sure.