TERRY RICHARDSON might be a perv, but he’s an artsy perv. It’s amazing how garden-variety pornography becomes art if you blow it up real big and put it in a gallery. At the “Terryworld” opening at Deitch Projects on Wooster Street, the crowd, including SONIC YOUTH‘s KIM GORDON, FISCHERSPOONER‘s CASEY SPOONER, and dashing downtown performer ADAM DUGAS, gaped in wonder, horror, and amusement at the various positions of Richardson and his numerous nubile young girls and chicks with dicks. On the street, an estimated 3,000-strong throng milled about waiting to be discovered by Terry—or maybe for something exciting to happen.
They almost found it in the glass booth set in the middle of the masses, fronted by a suited blond man. He explained he was the salesman for the Imitation of Christ “store,” which was selling only one item: a pair of antique glass eyeballs for $400. I asked Spooner what he thought of the store, and he cracked, “I didn’t like it.” He paused. “I couldn’t find anything.” Fittingly, ANDREW ANDREW bought the eyeballs from proprietor TARA SUBKOFF.
The Richardson show apparently caused a ruckus with some of the gallery’s employees. JEFFREY DEITCH, who was surprised by the strong negative reaction, gave the employees who took issue with the show a month of paid vacation. “I respect that some people do not like the content of the show. I hope that people can respect Terry and respect that the gallery wants to show something a lot of people want to see and take seriously.”
If that wasn’t enough, just a few days before the big shebang—which Deitch said was their biggest opening yet—a landmarked building next to his Grand Street space, where “Terryworld” was supposed to open, started collapsing, apparently due to an adjacent construction pit that flooded during the recent heavy rains. Two neighboring structures, including Deitch, were emptied. Given just a few minutes, the staff saved the gallery’s computer server and any art they could.
At the Richardson after-party at the Maritime Hotel’s bar, Hiro, a throng of people bum-rushed the door around 11. Deitch himself stood outside the mob scene and told us that Richardson had yet to show up for his own party. Richardson eventually made it inside, where there were more enlarged images of cum shots, people sporting big black plastic “Terry” glasses, and—almost as scary—VINCENT GALLO. We blew the joint, but not the Brown Bunny filmmaker.
We sent Casey Spooner as our stand-in reporter to Sunday’s APC in-store party, where JARVIS COCKER DJ’d and Spooner’s partner, WARREN FISCHER, debuted new Fischerspooner tracks. The duo hope to finish their record by November, and are focusing on imaging and package design, which is, as you can imagine, a supremely huge task for artsy-fartsy types like FS. (You can stalk Casey, Warren, and Adam at their weekly Salon in Billyburg on 110 North 1st Street, every Thursday from 7 to 11, with their new fave DJ, ANDY BUTLER, spinning.)
There couldn’t have been a more appropriate end to Fashion Week than the Vice show at the Ukrainian National Home. Usually fashion shows feature pretty girls plodding down the runway with morose expressions, but the Vice “models” staggered out wearing jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies from the company’s store, grinning widely, with cans of beer in their hands. Another batch of mannequins was sent out in glittery, barely- there dresses, with mean scowls and knives, in case anyone was thinking of asking them out on a date afterward.
The event was to be a showdown between the Vice crew and voguing families the HOUSE OF GIVENCHY and the HOUSE OF NINJA. “Not a fair fight,” admitted Vice co-founder SUROOSH ALVI later, since his people got their asses beat by the voguers, who sashayed, kicked, and danced their way down the catwalk, demonstrating feline flexibility. The finale came when a nearly naked lady demonstrated yoga-like poses that would’ve made MADONNA jealous—and Terry Richardson horny.