An after-the-event Florence Biennale critique with judge Gregorio Luke was helpful. With perseverance and commercialism (of my imagery), he forecast, "new doors opening."  Luke stood out from other exhibition judges with his extra efforts to speak to as many Biennale participants as possible.  His general message was that it’s not what ciritcs say, it’s what you do as artist.  An expert on Frida Kahlo, he suggested using her approach as "model": communicating directly with the public.  In fact, during his official presentation, Luke stated, "Don’t try to go to a closed and elitist art establishment." (Image above, taken during Luke’s official presentation.)

Gilbert and George, honored with the Biennale’s "Lorenzo il Magnifico" career award, are quite different from Kahlo—in intention, appeal, and subject matter.  During Tim Marlowe’s Biennale interview with them, they insisted "Art has to be powerful or people pass it by…"  (Maybe they meant "shocking"?).  Their "Naked Shit" series (the title of which Marlowe repeated over and again in his questions) is just one example.  Gregorio Luke, the first time I introduced myself to him, stated,  "I don’t know your name, but I remember your art!"  Encouraging for work that’s not likely to be considered  "shocking"…

The evening before Gilbert and George’s interview, I ran into them by the Ponte Vecchia.  These "Men in suits" (a way, they claim to be have been able to sell themselves to dealers, from 1968 on) were now "men in overcoats," and a young Florentian was trying to take their picture with his cell phone camera.  I helped out, enabling him to be in the shot with them, then shared that I was a Florence Biennale artist hoping for feedback. Keeping the focus on themselves, the duo expressed surprise that I could have missed their enormous exhibit at the Tate (even though I told them that I don’t live in the UK). A conversation closer…

Another important man (in suit) who cut things short with me, last November, was Donald Trump.  In New York City, the week before leaving for the Biennale, I was meeting a friend at the Trump Tower cafeteria for lunch. By surprise, I noticed "the Donald" going up the escalator, and decided to approach him.  "Mr Trump" I braved, "May I please ask you a question?"  Thin and pale (without TV makeup), he turned in my direction, responding, "You’re a beautiful woman…  where are you from?"  The answer "Toronto," it appears, wasn’t a good one.  Hand up in the air after hearing this, he turned, elevator doors closing behind him.  Alas, no chance to pitch my Biennale exhibit series, "Buon Appetito!" to him.  Since climbing Kilimanjaro, I might have become a little more gusty—but there’s always need for help with closing a deal!