An enjoyable read which revolves around a group of avantgarde artists in Beijing and the pool-owning classes of Los Angeles. Clash of cultures anyone?
Extract
'Harry Lin wants you,' X said impatiently. 'He's seen your work - Drip-Drop, for example.' 'That was a collaboration, if you remember," I said. 'And does he know what I've been doing since?' X waved that away. 'An artist is an artist, no matter what he's doing.' I didn't believe that. In fact, I believed the opposite: an artist is someone who's making art, and I had not done anything more than pencil sketches for the past five years.
