When I was in high school, being a “college track” kid, we had a choice of only one fine arts elective. For me, it would always be music, never art. And when I got to college, art was the one elective I could never take, because the textbooks were just so damn expensive. So even though, I love a good museum, and am willing to examine just about anything that hangs on the walls (looking at you Frank Stella with your solid black canvas – seriously?), I am very much clueless when it comes to the more conceptual art, or it’s art because I say it is.
Jack Martin has made a very big name for himself in this kind of art. Installations, mostly involving heavy blocks and stones placed just right. Along the way, he has picked up a wife, the vibrant up and coming Cuban artist Anita de Monte. However his star is starting to fade, and hers is shining brighter than ever. But there is a drunken fight on the balcony of a New York high rise, and she falls? is pushed? over the edge. There are no witnesses, who can say. Years go by Martin is back on track again, and then art history student Raquel decides to base her thesis on him. She uncovers more than the insular New York art world is prepared to hear, and the case for de Monte becomes more clear.
And then there is that reoccurring issue Martin still has. No matter how carefully he lays out those stones, when the exhibit opens, they are always rearranged. Almost as if someone is mocking his vision.