SUCCESS IS A DIRTY WORD: I say "Take a walk on the wild side"

I am selling my house in Palm Springs and if you want to be given a continual headache have more than one house, have it in California when you actually live in London. American's love paperwork so beware,  try going home when you are no longer in love with the lifestyle and fake boho, you could have a nervous breakdown with Escrow.
I would rather buy art. So with this idea I decide to go to Venice for the week end to see the Damien Hirst show which opened a few weeks ago at the Palazzo Grassi and also pop into a few other Palazzo's to view this years Biennale. I will leave the countries in the Garden until next time.
The art world is prickly. I sat at a table and listened to people discussing whether Damien Hirst's exhibition was better than Paul McCarthy? Personally I would prefer any day a bronze of a broken Aphrodite and a huge very male statue of Pereus to a vomiting SnowWhite or a huge green Butt plug as a tree. Both artists joke and I love this, but Butt plugs are not for me. Damien always has humour mixed with extravagance, and this is an incredible show that is beautiful and like a Hollywood Blockbuster.  You will see humour and thought, comments about the myths, the Eygptian's,  Budda, green jade made to look fake, the art world, history and I loved it. I notice people prefer failure, anybody who is successful get's a flogging. "Success" is a dirty word.

This is no more obvious than in politics. I am sorry I like people doing well and I hate crooked people.  I like honesty, the honesty of a Headmistress over a man who is really a Communist, who wants to embrace failure rather than success.  On another note,  I say for every refugee coming to the UK bring in a rich one too..Rich in mind, body and spirit. They can pay for the poor one.
For heavens sake don't be popular and well liked.
As for Trump the revolting way he has been treated and pushed about is disturbing.  I am not a fan of the hair or the orange face but the Russians and Fake News, to cover Pizzagate, Julian Assange leaks, Seth Rich, Vincent Foster,  Benghazi, the Podesta emails, Loretta Lynch, The Secret Service Prostitution Scandal, The Clinton Foundation, Haitians and so much more, is repellent and worrying.  "The Fake News" from huge organizations owned by the Illuminati, The Press and many Democrats is a terrible reflection on society and democracy,Trump himself get's the blame, his only stupidity is wanting to dream of making "America Great Again" The only other person to be like this was Kennedy who got shot. Keep safe President Trump you won the Democrats should get over it. Whatever side you are on the political world is so very sick, nothing has changed. SuperTramp sings an appropriate song. Alex Jones speaks about Trump.  Life goes on.  I say investigate everything Mr President, you will no doubt find the C's embroiled in all behind the scenes activities, be brave be calm. Why on earth fifty percent of America wanted Mrs Clinton heaven knows. It's not about left or right its about honesty and integrity. The position of the President has become very murky indeed. It is explained beautifully by the outrageous Roger Stone in "Get Me Roger Stone" On another note it is well known that anybody at anytime can listen to anybody's conversations whenever they choose with the right equipment. Famous or not everybody faces that risk. So what's the news?
The deplorable population need to stand up and speak up. They voted for that. I say "Drain the swamp" before its too late.
Now I am  off to the Beach Boys who will lift my spirits and remind me there is still hope for America, success and ethics. I may also listen tonight before falling asleep to Lou Reed's Take a walk on the wild side.. A brilliant song that now apparently is not so politically correct, actually thank goodness it never was.. sleep well.

TOUCHING ART MIRRORS THE REAL THINGS IN LIFE

As Nigella enters the courtroom this week as Domestic High Priestess with elegance, and Charles, King of the Art World  having spoken passionately about distress and what Nigella meant to him, I think we should remember that this is divorce, and it is an unhappy time for them both. Nigella was eloquent and moving as was Charles. Please can we remember what they have both achieved and think about the two people that have stolen from them and  caused this hideous rift.
 I have had many nannies who drove me crazy. It is difficult to find people to work for you who you can trust. Truly difficult. We all want to rely on people with our children. Once I found my  Norland Nanny had locked my son in an hotel room while she went downstairs and boozed the night away. She had been charming, I was completely conned. Another one began to dress and speak like me as per the Servant. So many stories and really all déclassé. Of course there were the success stories too and they know who they are. Amanda Heslop who painted with the children, Helen Latham who taught them to read and made wonderful costumes for the boys and Alex Shipp who I could not help but love.
As for divorce stories, they are all the same, mine included, they are seriously dull and negative, but unfortunately for everybody involved with this mesmerizing insanity they are just so watchable, like some terrible episode of Big Brother, you have to have one eye on it.
I will say it again Poor Nigella, Poor Charles and poor children. I love and respect the Saatchi family.  That is my opinion. We now know the beginning the middle and the end and it would be more exciting to move on.

THE SAATCHI GALLERY

There is an art fair which is much more fun and interesting in Miami and despite the intrigue of the above, it is incredibly depressing in cold London. Thank goodness I am here amongst the Damien Hirst mini, which I think belonged to Charles Saatchi  when he was married to Kay.  Thought provoking neons  by Tracey Emin, moved me, I love her touching thoughts. Go and see them at Moca.  I  have also had the incredible opportunity to see Marina Abramovic again with her film. So many things to do and all on one night.

My film today , The gun the cake and the butterfly is being shown at the Colony Theatre, to the art world, at 3pm, which for me is more frightening than the film world.
I started off  in art world writing and taking photographs for a book on them all, called British Artists at Work, for Italian Vogue, followed by a book called Made by Indians. It showed 46  British artists and their studios. In perspex it looked chic and is still one of the favourite things I have accomplished . Published by Asssouline I loved it, it taught me so much about  contemporary art. My favourite artists are here, Tracey Emin and Tim Noble and Sue Webster  feel like family.
Tracey gave a party at Soho Beach Hotel with HRH Princess Beatrice, Nancy dell'ollio, Jay Jopling, Damien Hirst, Tim Noble and Sue Webster, It was a huge success, I had an education sitting next door to the highly intelligent Gary Indiana and Lorcan O'Neill. We finished the evening  with dancing round the swimming pool and Rick Owens and his wife Michele Lamy looking as dashing as ever.

TO BUY IN THE ART WORLD MIAMI ART BASEL

"When I write I am taken over by lost ghosts holding the pen of truth"
My hand writes, yet sometimes my head is empty and sometimes it goes into the deep wells of thought.
I have much to be grateful for this week. I love being in the middle of artistic thought, some intellectual and some pure fun. Miami becomes the centre of the universe for the social whirl of the art world and the financial side rushes ahead as art is bought and sold at the massive Art Basel. It is not for the shy and socially inarticulate. Artists, galleries, socialites and buyers sit side by side with glamorous pr's pushing people together, to talk think and party. Advertising for Art Basel on You Tube says it's where the richest people in the world come together and mix. Others say it is where ambitious girls meet their lovers and husbands. Whatever it is, I intend to find out for myself, I have always avoided it as it sounded like the party set, but I thought I must come and see for myself, just once. 
Last night I went with Liberatum Culture to Untitled on the beach where pieces will be sold off to finance Elton John's aids charity and Marina Abramovic's.
I met with Marina who was as usual generous.
I am staying at Soho Beach House, which seems to be the place to be, in the dining room alone, there was Damien Hirst, Jay Jopling Cindy Crawford with her husband, Karla Otto and Nancy dell'Ollio. Huge mixtures of people, the hopeful and the clever.

Tonight I am going to my friend Tracey Emin's show and dinner. Tomorrow there are so many parties and openings that I will need to be extremely organised, if I wish to see everything.
Liberatum Culture is also hosting an opening of my film The gun the cake and the butterfly at The Colony at 15.00 on the 4th December, which is open to everybody.
It is a long way away from The Daily Mail and the scandals of England.

ALL OF US ARE SHADES OF GREY

As I flew out of Los Angeles last night I realised that stars are a dying breed. Being a celebrity is not what it was. There are no Iconic lovelies anymore, there is little secrecy.  There is no Bette Davis, Elizabeth Taylor, Clara Bow or Alexis Smith, The dream factory ideals. Hollywood is a place where dreams were and are assembled.  Unfortunately an actress nowadays cannot sing and dance or twirl a cane.  Marni Nixon was the true singer behind most of them. Hollywood was intimidating, cold back then, and they looked like they could handle anything, but now they look like they are handled. It is scary. I think stars disappeared after super market clothes became the fashion. There is no Veronica Lake and no more Nathalie Wood. There are beautiful women but there are no stars,  Madonna styled herself on these stars, I style myself on these stars. Hollywood still uses these stars,  I am tarted up like  Marilyn Monroe because she has lasted 52 years after her death. We all lose our charms in the end. I shall be a galleon in full sail, The  Queen of the night. I love the idea of death, love and life, questioning everything.

DENNIS TARASOV

I consume ideas of sex, lust and taking life to the edge. I think most people do. The popularity of 50 Shades of Grey. One of the most successful books ever written, is proof of this.
I like graveyards, magic, sex and I love flowers and opera too. Today I walked down the Kings Road to discover what The Saatchi Gallery had to show us. Yet again Charles Saatchi, my friend, stretches our imagination with The show Body language. The photographic etchings in the graveyard by  Dennis Tarasov,  Through people's dusty  memories, Dennis has created the life of the person below ground, with flowers, drink, a Volvo car, people looking real and interesting, but our memories fading. Then there was the singed faces in Dana Schutz's work, A singed Picnic. I walked through the gallery and remembered how many other people Mr Saatchi has helped, along with his wife Kay Saatchi, Damien Hirst, Tracey Emin, Sarah Lucas, Mat Collishaw, Martin Maloney, by supporting them and showing and buying their work. After twenty odd years his gallery still excites me, his character too. Charles is edgy, he always was.  At number 3 in my most attractive men list, he is certainly no crashing bore. He has, lest we forget done enormous amounts of good for Great Britain.

DANA SHUTZ

The last few months have brought him right bang up to date along with the feisty artists he represents. Controversial and shocking, he rocked his world and ours, by his fight with his ex wife Nigella. He is able to make us think and question the popularity of books like Shades of Grey reminding us "What not to do" In other words he is his art. Let's hope he continues to stir  the world we live in, with his thoughts and artistic brilliance.  Tomorrow I have tea with him and I shall enjoy it because without doubt he is one of the most unusual men alive today.

THE TATE IS NOT GREAT, DAMIEN AND BRITAIN ARE

This summer, I have wondered why the Damien Hirst exhibition came under attack, I actually defended him in the Huffington Post. Now I understand. As Britain's most prolific and exciting artist, his pieces at the Tate Modern were reduced to ordinary by the unimaginative curation of Ann Gallagher, and confines of the 14  cramped rooms at Tate Modern.  Why do they have people in England who are clearly intellectual curating shows of visual worth. Charles was able to do this because he is a visionary. I bet Ann lives at home with a cat.

There is nothing like the curation of Charles Saatchi. Oh, the excitement, the wonder at seeing artwork for the first time. I saw this show when it first opened, full of people, so I did not understand what the mealy-mouthed, miserable critics were saying. Now I can see.  

Damien is not at fault, the curation is. Why did they not use the turbine hall?  Why did they cram so much into such small spaces? His pieces are huge. 

The shark was reduced to a sideline, a fish in a tank, "The Physical impossibility of Death in the mind of someone living 1991?" . This was the problem. Damien, like his titles, is about excess, about over the top, and I agree with everything he stands for, especially his views that smokers are not to be trusted. Likewise, old drug users, drunks - and of course he was one himself. 

He is now a cleaned up version of his old self (if still on the fags).  So the Tate gave him the fag ends. His butterfly room, "In and Out of Love" sort of worked.  But I remember first seeing his work in Boundary Road, the darling theatre, gallery and museum of Charles Saatchi. 

I was shocked for a week, left with thoughts that have stayed with me ever since. I was there watching a man pour ink into the lamb vitrine, "Away from the flock" at the Serpentine Gallery. I saw it turn black. I saw the pieces in Charles and Kay Saatchi's drawing room and hall. I was in awe. 

This time in minutes the politically correct Tate Museum – not Gallery – bored me to tears, I was left with souvenirs that cannot be destroyed by average Britain. Damien is great and so his work. The Tate Modern is not. I wonder if Damien was too flattered by the Tate to be tough enough? What we had was a history lesson not a living exhibition by a living artist.

A SHARK IN A TANK

I walked into The Saatchi Gallery in Boundary Road in 1992,  and was spooked by the Young British Artists, that Charles Saatchi was showing there, especially  "The physical impossibility of death in the mind of someone living" by Damien Hirst, in simple terms,  the shark in a tank. I could have died, I was in awe, blinded by the white light and shocked by his show there. I had never seen anything like it before. I did not even know it existed. I was clearly living a very 'sloaney' life before that. 
Twenty years later (my goodness time flies) I  am writing about Damien Hirst for the Huffington Post. 

I met Charles and Kay in Thailand in 1992, and yet it feels  like yesterday. Before the show I was not interested in Contemporary Art, I thought it was profane and base. In fact I knew nothing about it and nothing about much. I was young.  Since then I have educated myself, had lessons, studied at the Victoria and Albert Museum, Art History and badgered anybody I could. Mostly I nagged the artists themselves or Kay Saatchi,  who I speak to most days. I am greedy for the meaning of it all. I also have my own collection which includes, some works of  Tracey Emin, Mat Collishaw, Dexter Dalwood, Marc Quinn, Polly Morgan and Sir Peter Blake. 
I had a crush on Kay and Charles, I can honestly admit it. I don't mind what anybody thinks, they opened a world to me.  I am still impressed, The Kings Road was a dying lost place falling to bits, then along come Charles and Nigella Lawson - times change, Charles has new wife- and the new Saatchi Gallery,  this time Chinese Art,  and wow The Kings Road is majestic again. Boutique restaurants and clean lines, cleaned up and on show again.  Of course the rock n roll of the Sixties to the Eighties has gone, but Charles Saatchi has woken it up and still managed to make it groovy.
We now live with Reality Television series called 'Made in Chelsea' instead of Coronation Street. Grime changes locations, but it is still grime. 
Charles has been pretty silent, not totally,because there is always a rumbling underneath the surface, and internal earthquake, he is now writing a column in The Evening Standard. Damien Hirst has moved on too, he is the most expensive artist in the world now, and he is having an exhibition at The Tate.  Kay lives now in Los Angeles and is best friend you can possibly have there.

DOES ART HAVE HEART?

Art is not a supermarket of baked beans, even though Andy Warhol tried to make it so. To be real and to be enjoyed, it has to be done - in my mind - by the individual who had the original thought, not by an army of slaves. Personally, I really like the idea that the artist puts the paint on the canvas himself; that she did her own sewing, and that their ideas were their own.


Of course, this has been happening for years: all the major artists for centuries had schools, with other excellent artists working for them, under one so-called brand. Valasquez and Damien Hirst have both taken advantage of their public needing more art. But at least Velasquez did the tricky bits.

I have to feel for a piece - and so one of my favourites is by a young artist called Kirsten Glass. I bought it about ten years ago, and everybody asks me who painted it. Well, I know she did. All of it. I think it is one of her best works and I love its name: 'Voodoo Dolly'.  Another piece I love is a very large white elephant by Marc Quinn, which I bought at auction in order to aid the Indian pachyderms. I felt total passion and I still have it. But probably my biggest favourite is a 'Sensory Deprivation' white skull chair by Atelier Lieshout, which I look at every day.

Personally, I am of the belief that you only buy something when you have a coup de foudre. However stupid, however ridiculous, you must be in love and this must, like real love, not be attached to money or pedigree. It has to be entirely pure. I have never been taken in by fame or money, but I have heard more conversations with artists about real estate than anything else.  

The truth is, British artists and the art world in general have become rather bourgeois. And while I can forgive them this - because it is an epidemic - I find the crappy intellectual talk tedious.  Have you ever tried to decipher a catalogue about contemporary art? You will fall asleep in seconds.

I agree with Charles Saatchi who recently said that the art world was vulgar and full of hedge funders and Eurotrash. On the other hand, I know that he has sold to many a hedge funder and in so doing has turned the whole rotten cabbage on its head.


Actually, art works are being sold at huge prices because art is a reasonably safe place to put your money in. Money attracts money, so no wonder art has become used a passport for a social life.


I think Charles definitely had an intuitive eye and instinct which he then sold to the hedge funders with no imagination and packets of our cash. In the rush he, the artists, and in turn the money men, got consumed by greed and have enjoyed the power it brought to all of them.  But is it still art? That is the question?.


The answer is yes. And on top of that, out of nothing Mr Saatchi has made an industry with a few other clever men, among them Gagosian and Jay Jopling. This has had a rippling effect throughout the world.


That's not say that money should not be respected, or that a banker is less artistic than a gallery owner. Often the gallery owner sounds like a vegetable-seller and - let's face it - no one wanted to show Vincent Van Gogh and nobody bought his work. If a Eurotrash hedgie had invested in Vincent back then, I'm sure he would have been delighted.

I WOULD RATHER A PINK PIANO THAN A DIAMOND

Back in London is proving to be both exciting and challenging. Its gloomy and dark at 4pm, and in the pissing rain it could give you serious depression. I have been busy trampling the streets for a house to rent. My new one won't be ready until May and probably June at the earliest.
Last night I went to Solange Azagury-Partridge's jewelry opening at Home House. I have been a huge fan of hers for years, big chunky numbers that takeover the hands in gloriously opulent colours. In her collection she has one called Fake Duchess and another real Fake Countess. Then some others based on the Zodiac, all celestial and magical. Yes big rings do it for me, there is something that makes me happy wearing them, but I have no knowledge of diamonds. I get bored talking about them and instead have a passion for amethysts, I remember once Laurence Graff, who owns Graff Diamonds, said "change those amethysts to diamonds". I did not, really because I am essentially English and somehow I thought it very flash to own a diamond. Actually I got one when Johan and I were trying to work at our marriage from Vedura, I have never worn it. I must have at least ten amethysts, in fact my engagement ring to Johan was one. I am also in love with Loree Rodkin's knuckle dusters, and treasure one that looks like a moth.

Apart from the jewelry buzz I bumped into Mathew Williamson who looked like Johnny Depp, really very attractive and apologetic as he had stood me up earlier in the day. I was supposed to interview him for Genlux Magazine. Instead I spent the afternoon listening to music of New Moon, I love it and can't wait to get hold of the piano music, and my piano too then I can play it. I have also fallen in love with a pink piano by Damien Hirst with butterflies all over it. Lady Gaga performed on it last week and all I do is dream about it. I would rather have a piano than a diamond. Anyway it was sold to Gagosian for $450,000 dollars last week at MOCA in Los Angeles.

In the middle of the night I start dreaming of Antony Price, and his black dress I have from when I was 23, I love this dress and hope it isn't lost in the mess of moving. Black velvet its waist was tiny and it went across my shoulders beautifully. So that is why I am going to starve. Where was this genius hiding? I looked him up and there he was designing for Top Man after all these years, that clever Phillip Green has snapped him up. Why otherwise would I be up the escalator at ten this morning. Now I understand why I love this mans collection. Go quickly boys.

After indulging my fantastical whims, I went to the Little Black Book Party at China White, given by Tatler. It is a tradition now. I am really too old to be included, but hells bells it makes me feel good hanging out with the latest crop of eligible twenty year olds. The flamboyant glamour of Richard Dennen in a frock coat and half shaven haircut, made the whole evening, and funnily enough I didn't feel out of place at all. Despite the winter gloom London does glitter, just under ground, and hidden

BEETROOT BEATS THE SCALES

Trying to like green vegetables in all their purity again is proving a nightmare, my pretty Brazilian dietician, who is with me, tried to humour me by dying them red with a little beetroot - which sort of worked, and made eating pumpkin - the most evil of veggies in my mind - just about palatable. She decorated it so beautifully with chopped up mushrooms. This week I have coped because I have started to love pineapple. Anyway, this morning I jumped on the scales to find a little movement in the right direction. Yippee! But I still felt the need to hold on to the bathroom ledge.
Back to the fashion world this week, and with 25 years under its belt, London has something to celebrate. It is innovative. Quality is not always our plus, however, and as I walk through the halls, sometimes I want to cringe. Is this all we can muster with the super duper creative brains we have here in this country? There are exceptions, the tried and tested for example and - news spreading fast - the collection by Maia Norman (Damien Hirst's spouse). Then there was the brilliant Kinder show - according to Trinny Woodall - which I wanted to see but got stuck in traffic. Luckily, we have fabulous accessories which makes up for some of the more lacklustre exhbitors. Stephen Jones and Erickson and Beamon have been given centre stage this season. The room to the left at Somerset House, has their collections and as usual I want to buy everything of Vicki's. Stephen has a wonderful small top hat in black mesh. Hatter extraordinaire and wonderful cosy person, I always want to know him better. I looked through all my hats while I was preparing to move and hadn't realised how many I had of his. He always adds a twist and humour to his collection. His 25th year in the business means he is twins with Fashion Week. Vicky at Erickson and Beamon is the love of my life: after all, my assistant carefully packed up all of her collection thinking it was real, ready to put into Harrods safe deposit, as she thought it was so valuable. She is right. I do have emotional ties with E and B pieces, I love the way she matches and makes fashion, she is so very now. As I was leaving the first day, my eye was caught by some shoes by Beatrix Ong, a name often banded about. I tried to take a picture but they said no. She was keen on my magazine (Genlux) and had tried to get in it - well I will do my best. Her shoes are crazy in a comfortable walkable way. Unfortunately for me, they are mostly in beige, not a colour that is allowed in my wardrobe.