Masterpiece

by Unknown

• ISBN13: 9780553817126
• ISBN10: 0553817124
• Format: Trade Paper
• Copyright: 2007-04-01
• Publisher: Transworld Publishers

Summary

MASTERPIECE is a beautifully written, fast-paced page-turner set in the contemporary art scene featuring celebrated Brit-artist Esther Glass. In an audacious stroke she puts herself up for sale by auction at Sotheby's as a living masterpiece, to be owned by the highest bidder for a week. For each day of her possession, she will perform as one of seven iconic women, themselves the subjects of great paintings from the past. (CHRISTINA OF DENMARK by Holbein, OLYMPIA by Manet, MADONNA OF THE PINKS by Raphael, MADAME DE SENONNES by Ingres, MRS LEYLAND by Whistler, ISABELLA D'ESTE by Leonardo da Vinci, and JUDITH AND HOLOFERNES by Klimt.) Esther's extraordinary art adventure takes her to major European galleries and the Frick in New York to research her seven selected masterpieces. Once sold, she returns to Manhattan for her week of ownership. There she is forced to confront financial corruption by her dealers, the instability of her relationships with her lovers and, on her return to London, her own intrinsic values as an artist, daughter and woman. MASTERPIECE gives us rare access and insight into the workings of the contemporary art scene - and examines the effects of self-obsession, celebrity and greed on the part of its key players. It comes at a seminal moment when the art of sensation has possibly run its course. Where can it - and our heroine - possibly go next?

Author Biography

Miranda Glover had an early career in publishing, specializing in art, design and the web. She has edited several well-received books set in the art field as well as writing several art reference books.


From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpts

1 'It's not art,' I said, throwing the newspaper back across Aidan's desk. My dealer glanced down at it, failing to disguise a smirk. There was a sketch of a boy on the front page, lying naked in a field, smoking a joint. The words 'Blow, baby, blow' appeared underneath - in my inimitable scrawl. 'Who was he, Esther?' 'Does it matter?' 'Of course not.' 'His name was Kenny. I can't believe his cheek.' Aidan chuckled. 'You can't blame the guy - he just scooped three grand for a drawing. Have you got any more?' I didn't answer. 'I bet your mum could unearth a few.' He ignored my scowl and tried to cajole me. 'Think of it as a pension fund - our future. If someone's stupid enough to buy an adolescent sketch by Esther Glass . . .' 'What other parts of me would you like to sell?' I asked defiantly. 'Well, we could begin with your legs.' Aidan's hands went up behind his head as he laughed. A case of cats' eyeballs stared straight back at me from the wall above him: Billy Smith's latest offering, just hung up. His private view was at the gallery in three hours' time. 'Do you reckon Billy would let you auction his dirty underwear?' 'Funny you should mention it: he's on the phone to his old ma right now, to see what she can dig out.' 'I thought we shared the view of art for art's sake. Regardless of its price tag.' 'We do, Est, but you've got to be realistic - we all need money to live.' I held a lit match against my cigarette and sucked. Aidan beckoned me over but I ignored the gesture and instead concentrated on blowing smoke circles into the air. 'You've got to face it,' he said: 'they'll buy any bit of you that's for sale. You might as well benefit.' The truth was, the sight of that sketch left me cold, but I couldn't explain why to Aidan - there wasn't a way. I had done it such a long time ago, so long ago, in fact, I felt like it belonged to someone else's history, a history I thought I'd managed to skip over, through years of active reinvention and determined shedding of skins. As I looked down at the paper what I saw was my own fatal error staring back at me. I had foolishly believed I could erase from memory those people who had run away from me in the past, because I had assumed they would never turn and run back in my direction. But I'd failed to take into account one critical factor: I had become famous, and with that fame I'd become a valuable commodity - if you had a piece of me to sell, that is. Crafty old Kenny Harper, I bet he couldn't believe his luck when he found that drawing at the bottom of some old box. 'Esther, are you OK?' Aidan's tone had softened and he observed me curiously. 'I guess so,' I said. 'It just feels weird to see something I did so long ago made public. You know, it was just a scribble, and now Sotheby's have gone and authenticated it as a work of art. It's crazy.' 'You've got to remember, Esther,' he replied gently, 'you've encouraged the media's hysteria around you - and the public's obsession. Take advantage of it while you can.' He had a point and we both knew it. My art was about 'the moment' - who knew when it would pass? 'Please, Aidan, can we let it lie?' 'Sure thing, Est,' he answered with a sigh. 'After all, it is your past; it's no one else's business.' His words contained a subtle tug, an undercurrent which I chose at that moment to ignore. We both knew the issue of sharing information was a personal one - one that, before now, had never centred on my art. I heard the gallery door click open and turned to see Katie O'Reilly click-clacking her kitten heels across the white space. She had a tray in her hands and I got up to open Aidan's glass door for her. She smiled sweetly as she passed me by and then, with her back to me, she enquired how I was - a touch uneasily, I felt. Katie was a critical component in Aidan's staff, his most trusted employee and indefatigable PA. She was in