Auction House Concerto presents a surreal vision of pomp and absurdity, where a procession of men in black tie sit poised, each one gripping a banana as if it were a grand cello. This is a concerto of the ludicrous, where the instruments of high culture have been replaced by outlandish symbols of kitsch, held with an air of serious reverence. They stroke and cradle these colossal bananas, playing a silent symphony that resonates only with the hollow echoes of their own irrelevance.
In this tableau, the bananas mock their attempts to create harmony out of the absurd—emblems of the famous banana art, they’ve mutated into parody in the hands of these self-appointed maestros of taste. Each figure, engrossed in his silent solo, seems oblivious to the fact that their “instruments” have no strings, no resonance, no purpose. It’s a performance meant to impress, yet it falls flat, as discordant as an orchestra of cellists bowing to the void.
Harman’s brushwork captures this farce with a sharp digital precision that amplifies the existential weight of the scene. Each banana-cello is rendered with absurd grandeur, highlighting the futility of these old institutions trying to hold court in a cultural landscape that has moved far beyond their reach. Here, the auction house is reduced to a tragic orchestra, endlessly tuning an instrument that cannot play, caught in a loop of absurdity as they conduct a concerto nobody came to hear.
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