Rap Sheet

 

I was born in Long Island,

Stuttered and overweight

Not a terribly joyful fate

My father was traveling, didn’t seem to care

My mother was preoccupied, stayed out of my hair

Most of my time was spent alone in a room

Cutting up magazines to hang in my tomb

I was put on diets from the age of 5

It would be decades before I learned to thrive

I’d steal toys and candies from local stores

Hoard them away in my clothing drawers

I had no friends, failed out of school

I had no hobbies but wasn’t a fool

At 12 my mother got ill with cancer

I was 13 when she died, there wasn’t an answer

I barely got into college, yet there’s always one

I’d lost some weight, started to have fun

I signed up for philosophy, shined and got As

My professors were intrigued, lavished me with praise

But I also drank, did plenty of drugs

If I only had love, support and some hugs

I headed to law school to hide from a job

When students would blab I’d well-nigh sob

I lied to my family I’d enrolled in night classes

Worked full-time, and still managed passes

Never intended to become an attorney

Grad school was only the start of a journey

Tried the stock exchange and world of fashion

Not until art did I manage to find passion

I needed a business entrepreneurial and creative

Stumbled into Warhol’s estate sale, felt like a native

I naively thought art went from studio to museum

That was the end—into a veritable mausoleum

I’d never stepped into a gallery until I was nearly 27

When I finally did I thought I’d entered heaven

The minute I found out an art market existed

I started making it, curating and doggedly persisted

Teaching and writing completely self-taught

Reviewed by the Times and bought and bought

Collecting came easy, I organized many a show

When it came to selling, I excelled much less so

Then I met Inigo, Spanish for “fiery”

A cocky young dealer got rid of my anxiety

Together we made money, I didn’t know I could

The way he made millions I never fully understood

Turns out he sold the same pieces a lot more than once

Borrowed enormous sums, employed other fronts

He went on the run to an island in the South Pacific

His crimes and misdemeanors were nothing less than prolific

Inigo thought he’d never go to jail

But he left out a minor detail

Though the US has no extradition treaty with Vanuatu

That was a place he should have fled not to

The FBI came calling to the friend of the United States

Caught him with his pants down, eating some dates

He stole more than fifty million, nearly 2 from me alone

He went to jail and I got on the phone

I wrote an article and landed an agent at CAA

I’m in the middle a documentary and movie today

I went from gorging on food and binging on art

Launched a series of Sotheby’s auctions, a propitious start…

But how will I ever make that money back

Without resorting to selling crack?