Carl Offterdinger “Mein erstes Märchenbuch / Das tapfere Schneiderlein (‘The Valiant Little Taylor’)”, 19th cent.
I recently had a small show in an alley gallery in China Town, shady but cute and I was showing some slides of Starfish, Molly and Chiaki and the others, which was fun, as it was a first for everyone, Chiaki came up on stage to introduce herself to the cheering crowd (it was a very small and yet eclectic crowd) and it went well and I was introduced to a person with no official title other than “some form of artist rep”. By a very trustworthy lovable other person, as far as I can tell. But what do I know, really, I am just a grey alley cat like the rest of us.
So this guy who goes by the name of Uncle Karli called me up straight away. Apparently from a swimming pool of friend’s house in Beverly Hills. For those of you from far away, that is a rather impressively (to some) expensive area in LA.
So he calls from there and because the friends were noisy, he told them to quiet it down, because he was doing an important business call. That is me. I am important! (Score.)
Then he tells me my art is “fucking amazing” (he is a passionate man who thinks if we swear at each other we are best friends, so every second word starts with “f”, I ask to tone it down, but turns out he can’t even though he tries); then he rattles a list of people and organisations down he has connections to.
Uncle Karli is a fast talker, so those I picked up where the owner of RED BULL, Johnny Depp, Debbie Harris (she will LOVE my work, so Uncle Karli promises = SUPER SCORE!) , the MUSEUM OF OLD AND NEW ART in Tasmania founded by a in certain circles famous millionaire, various editors of subculture magazines such as VICE and JUXTAPOZ, someone of a major studio (meaning film) out here and about a thousand others, and all of them are on personal friend level with the guy and can’t wait to see my fabulous art work. (Yes, finally here is someone who understands me, and who can connect me to THE RIGHT PEOPLE. Score.)
And he is going on a trip to San Francisco and then shortly after on a trip to Berlin, where he is also producing a mysterious film (he is a Jack of all trades indeed, we have visual art, music, film, you name it – he does it and better than anyone before, he is so busy he doesn’t even have a website) and he MUST meet me in-between. Sure thing.
We met in a wonderful stylish French Cafe downtown (he stated he had never been before at) , but he had a swollen hand and so wanted to go home soon, the hand was really swollen. He took me home, lives downtown, nice place ($$$) with a seemingly normal nice gf, then has to go to a chiropractor for acupuncture. Because he assumes it is a spider bite.
All those nurses out there will say now STOP right there, but I didn’t click.
Then he goes to SF where he has an appointment with a topnotch gallery, texting me non stop over the days, because I am very important. (SCORE.) He says he introduced himself meaning my work to this elegant gallery, named contact person (the associate director) and that she loved my work and totally gets it. Then back. (BIG FAT SUPER SCORE! At last, my luck has come along….)
He sends email apologizing for having taken the liberty to send my work to John Waters (yes, the film director), who absolutely loved it, but he was brief because currently on book tour, so be patient, but this should be helpful of getting me into more galleries and stuff. (Yes, of course, SCORE SCORE!!)
Then I should give him a list of galleries in Berlin where he should introduce my work. I say it has been years (over a decade) and I am not up to date what is going on in Berlin. I check and come up with a few possible places, one of them being ACUD Cinema, (he promptly tags me and facebook eventually asks me to review my experience of having been there with Uncle Karli. I decline, because I wasn’t there, I was here. One is left to wonder: where was Uncle Karli?)
Same thing, whilst in Berlin, tons of texts and two long phone calls. Because I am incredibly important. (SCORE.SCORE.SCORE.)
Same thing, whilst in Berlin, tons of texts and two long phone calls. Because I am incredibly important. (SCORE.SCORE.SCORE.)
In one of them he invites me to one out of his four upcoming birthday parties, suggests I should bring my lesbian lover along and casually asks if he can stay in my mother’s apartment. (I decline, because I know my mother and it’s not gonna be. Besides, WHO are you?!)
It will never be mentioned again although I send lengthy apologetic explanation about the character of my mother. We talk about more fantastic plans and everything I never dared to dream about is possible, and grants in $20,000 can be found, because the key to success is being well connected.
Meanwhile without that I introduced them this guy is on the friend list of two of my very recent contacts, I can’t help but notice, (the ones who speak English and both have also over a thousand friends.) Then he is back, I say, hey I wanted to hear details about the meeting with the gallery in SF and also what exactly did John Waters say? (SWOON.)
He states “Everyone can be gotten to. Yesterday I was chatting on the plane with ICE T”. He knows even more demi-gods on a first name basis: “I have Iggy” (as in James Newell Osterberg, world famous punk-musician, only the finest) and his partner knows John Lurie, of course. Impressive.
I only know my shabby half-on-the-streets-friends and one (as in: “1”) world famous artist who is very much from another century. Good to make fresh connections.
He asks if I want to come on a long road trip together to San Diego. There we will meet one of his incredibly wealthy art connoisseurs pizza shop owner friends, it will give us time to chat and this man may be interested in my work or sponsor a mammoth project that otherwise will never come true.
I say I need to make arrangements, they are being made, then I ask where exactly we are going again? It turns into a trip to Coronado. Not quite San Diego.
The pizza shop owner looks familiar, because he looks exactly like any small town Cleveland mafiosi I know too well, generally not exactly people who have an interest in the arts. Fine. Never be discriminating. I am not discriminating, it is evening, I am preparing my trip, hurrah, I get to go on a road trip.
Text message: “Bring your passport.”
By now I have learned, bossy people = effective people. (Memo to self.) Important people. Polite people are not important. And yet.
I ask why.
Because there “might be a quick meeting in TJ [being Tijuana], “don’t worry, you’re safe.”
(If you are not from the area and never watch the news, simply google image it and add the words brothel or drug cartel, you can see what it looks like.)
I decline.
Uncle Karli says, “Then he’ll have to cross [the border] to meet if possible. It’s ok”
WHO IS “HE” ??
And why does he have to cross any border, as the pizza shop plus owner is on the US side?
Anyways I state I do not know him well enough.
He asks “You’re afraid of being sold aren’t you?”
“It’s fine. Coronado only.”
I say let’s meet in a cafe instead another time.
Uncle Karli states he understand he didn’t mean to bug me out.
Of course you didn’t, Uncle Karli.
No apology whatsoever.
Fine. NOT SCORE.
I ask ICE T if he was chatting with Uncle Karli on a plane. (You may wonder, but ICE T is not out of reach for the commoners.)
ICE T replies instantly “Not true. He is lying.”
Go figure.
I scrap all my courage together and call the gallery and leave a message with God, who Uncle Karli has talked to and shown my photographs when in San Francsico.
God calls back ten minutes later. God has never met Uncle Karli.
I am submissive as can be and force God to take a look at my website because if God has EVER seen my work God would remember as weird as this shit is, good or bad left out of the discussion.
God is incredibly friendly and reassures me never to have met Uncle Karli nor seen my work.
God also as tactful as possible points out that they are incredibly full and do not take people on so easily.
I assure God that I am doing this job since over 15 years and am WELL AWARE of how these type of galleries are run (seemingly as opposed to what Uncle Karli thinks, or tries to make people think) and that it is no surprise, in fact the actual surprise was, that Uncle Karli of all people seemingly had ZERO trouble jumping such hurdles without sweat, that are totally out of reach for all the rest of us.
But hey, wishful thinking, right? (NOT SCORE, and yet: BINGO.)
I check on John Waters (don’t ask me, but he is a living being and there are ways, in that respect I suppose I have to agree with Unlce Karli.)
We will see if he replies, but either way I think I know one thing, John Waters has NEVER seen my work and: John Waters does NOT know Uncle Karli either.
I call back the friend who referred me and explain; he throws a fit and starts almost crying. He does not wish to discuss it and insists Uncle Karli is the nicest and most compassionate man he has ever met and very, very trustworthy.
I feel terribly sorry and send him an apology e-mail, I probably misunderstood everything, because I am a silly person or whatever is easy to digest. I feel bad.
I email Uncle Karli some more questions, basically the stuff gets more and more BS.
Not THE END but basically I have everything I needed to know.
It comes down to this: Uncle Karli is just a tad too pretentious for my taste, and people who are the real deal do not need to pretend.
That was the short version of this story.
IF Uncle Karli ever contacts you to make your ardent dreams and hopes come true and telling you how incredibly fabulous your work is, and is simply too good to be true, do yourself a favour and realize, the guy is a con artist. And skip the experience. If you want to make sure: contact the people he claims to know and ask if they have ever met him. Depending on how desperately you need fairy tales come true you will be surprised or lesser so to find out nobody has ever seen of heard of Uncle Karli.
The Remainder Is : [completely unproductive] DISAPPOINTMENT.
I am off to the pub with Larry and Chiaki, getting wasted and drowning myself; Starfish is heat broken over Molly spending an awful amount of her time on an doff-set with Elle recently and wanted to stay at home sulking.