This exchange between René Ricard and Cynthia Rowley at the opening of his “Sonnets from the Portuguese” exhibition cracks me up. Too much partying at the Factory in the 60s, perhaps? Get some sleep, Ricard. You sound like a dick.

Ricard was sequestered in a corner, giving autographs and sweating. His friend Cynthia Rowley, who’d designed the platinum-colored tuxedo jacket he was wearing with a pair of skinny jeans, dabbed his face with a handkerchief and asked, “Do you want help, René ?”

"What are you going to fucking do?" Ricard shouted. "Sign them for me?"

"You are spitting on my legs," Rowley said.

"You should thank God I’m spitting on you!” Ricard said, and signed another poster.

—from "A Little Bit Famous," by Ariel Levy, The New Yorker

This post is posted on Wednesday 29 June 2011.
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Tagged as: sonnets from the portugese    rene ricard    the new yorker    new york    New Yorker    art   
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  1. alisoncomposes posted this