I can’t quite recall a time when I set a date only to have the other person not show up, but I have to imagine that Banksy’s rendition of such an event, which just appeared in Hell’s Kitchen, has some accuracy to it. We see a man in a nice enough suit, “leaning” against a door frame, looking dejectedly at a somewhat cheap-looking bouquet, which has already started to wilt and lose its petals. Guys, I think Banksy might be sad. Which one of you made Banksy sad?
— Observer (@observer) October 24, 2013
But let’s go ahead and overanalyze this a bit: who in the world would stand Banksy up? Nobody! Even I, infuriated that he gave that French asshole a platform to legitimize his abhorrent mass-market “art” in Exit Through the Gift Shop, would still not cancel a date with him—not without calling or texting, at least. It could be the case, then, that Banksy’s disillusionment is of a broader stripe.
I like to think, in fact, that during his recent New York “residency,” he’s come to experience a subtle melancholy that infects anyone who moves about the city long enough: it’s supposed to be a cultural capital of the world, but all you end up doing is buying hot dogs from street vendors. The romantic idea of New York stands you up; you’re left with the stench of subway puke and a sense of existential dread. Pretty clever, that Banksy. Wonder if he’s considered being an artist.