Nine? Nein...

Greetings from Detroit. A few notes from around the art world:

This will get your morning started. From Reuters: "The German expressionist painter Joerg Immendorff confessed at the start of his trial on Tuesday to having taken cocaine in a hotel room where he was found with nine prostitutes last year."

There is so much fascinating news up on Artnet right now that I don't know where to start. Maybe with the exhibition schedule for the Smithsonian American Art Museum, maybe with Barnes news, maybe with Walter Robinson's NYC roundup...

No, really. I'm serious about you clicking on that Immendorff link up there. Maybe I need to tease it with another quote: "[Immendorff] had ordered 11 prostitutes, but two arrived after police had raided the suite."

I'm not sure why my pals in LA have yet to complain about this sentence from Peter Schjeldahl's lackluster review of the Ed Ruscha shows at the Whitney: "For much of his forty-year career, he has been patronized as a Los Angeles—that is, a marginal—artist." LA = marginal? My views on the energy of LA right now are no secret, so I won't bang the drum again. Then again maybe it wouldn't hurt: Only one artist out of about 40 in the upcoming Carnegie International is from LA. Only five out of about 55 at SITE Santa Fe's biennial are Angelenos. The common factor between these two shows is that both are curated by at least semi-NYC'ers: Laura Hoptman was at MoMA before curating the Carnegie, and Rob Storr was at MoMA, is now at NYU, and put together the SITE Santa Fe show. Curators need to discover Jet Blue. Or just lose the dated notion that NYC is still the center of the art world.

Did I mention that the black tape around the Anne Truitt that's up now at the Hirshhorn is just atrocious and embarassing?