Personal / Business / Art Dealer /
mostly from the 1980s, 2018 01 31
I’m caught in the middle, and aren’t we all? Civilization sabotaged my talents, prevented me from being able to make a living. Civilizations stare stupidly, depending on myths, blind to experience, and woe to the truth tellers: few correctly identified by the alpha kleptocrats.
I owe a lot of people money, a lot of people owe me money. If God ever identifies facts, establishes chains of causality, then who belongs where in hell (or heaven) will be clear, but who other than God, and me, will care?
Anyway, I regret owing money to some people more than to others. I want to identify two otf them. Marcel, the artist. Dan and Sandy Berman, of Plainfield NJ. I don’t know if any of them are alive. Lacking a way to pay them, it’s academic anyway. But let me try to clarify what it’s about, what happened.
First, the Bermans financed my publishing Robert Vickrey. They were due 50% of whatever the company’s net was on the art. They received only a fraction of it For decades the Bermans have known how to get hold of the unsold inventory, if they want to bother. It’s worth something only if you know how to sell it. I will them all of my half to do with whatever they choose. Vickrey himself did not receive everything that he was entitled to, but he seized inventory he was not entitled to, so I and the Bermans owe him nothing.
Fortunately the Berman and Vickrey are more than rich enough to survive these glitches. Still, I owe the Bermans.
Marcel, Alexandria & the Torpedo Factory, Virginia
Nice girl, good printmaker. I bought all the inventory of her work for resale that I could afford or borrow on. I worked hard promoting her in Florida. I wanted to bring our accounts up to date in the 1980s so I could do the same further west: California, etc, only to learn that she had made a deal with a dealer who was flish. To Marcel, I owed her my balances, and screw my plans for the west. (I was writing my novel, pk the starving artist, and Marcel was almost my only income.
I’d given her a check for low four figures. I got pissed, was desperate, and cancelled the check and never gave her another. OK, I was mad. But, I also never returned the only partly paid for inventory! It’s still under the bed, in the closet. All these decades I haven’t had the money for shipping! don’t have her current address, if living!
So, when I croak, don’t have the money for cremation or burial, if seizing my stuff under the bed is worth anything, give it to Marcel. I owed her a smack, but not decades worth.
Marcel made a living, was comfortable as well as hard working. Vickrey and the Bermans didn’t need the money whether it was owed to them or not, but Marcel had only modest cushion. Bless her. One of the good ones.
And me? I want God to see that I get what I deserve: and you get what you deserve!
Consider though: maybe that’s what already happened. Maybe pk was their hell! They had it coming, had nothing to do with me!
There’s other art under the bed and in the closet that also doesn’t belong to me but I don’t remember who it does belong to: mostly tax shelter dupes in PA and NJ. They’ve already taken it off their taxes.
Meantime, there’s a gallery in PA that has several million dollars worth of art much of which does belong to me pk, personally (and includes the Vickreys. I’ll supply the gallery name when I can think of it. DeVorzon, John I think. My ears no longer work, my eyes can’t see, and my focus is kaput.