"Journal: Sorry I’m late Ms. Braving! I live in Queens, and with the blizzard, the only way I could get to Soho was-- Trista Braving: Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my studio? Journal: Oh, uh, my name is Journal Moore, someone from the mayor’s office was supposed to call you? I’m the new special adviser on youth affairs and-- Trista Braving: You know who else destroyed paintings they didn’t like? The Taliban. Journal: Trista, no one is going to destroy your artwork. But the taxpayers are partially funding its display, and if mayor hundred is going to convince them that it’s a worthwhile use of their money, he could use your help. Can you tell me what your intention was with the piece? What you were trying to say? Trista Braving: It’s not my job to explain my paintings. They speak for themselves. Our generation’s been ruined by cliffs notes and director’s commentaries, people should learn to make their own goddamn conclusions about art. I mean, I know you’re just some glorified intern, but if your parents were fruity enough to name you Journal, they probably taught you something about culture, right? What do you think when you look at this? Journal: Honestly I think it’s a joke. I saw your first installation when I was a freshman at Columbia. This stuff you did with an old Gameboy camera? Sweet. Really cool commentary on modern society’s sexualization of young women. You totally deserved the Coyle Medal that year. Your next exhibit was standard sophomore slump though, a little too precious…and it looked like you knew it. Br> But the reviews were still amazing, huh? Like no critic wanted to be the first to say you might not be everything they hyped you to be last time. Your next show lashed out at them for evaluating you and not your art …but they totally missed the point, and the notices were even more glowing than ever. So when it came tim for “30 under 30” you submitted the most inane hateful piece of clichéd taboo you could imagine, just so you wouldn’t have to endure their empty praise again. But instead of catching on to your little prank, they fell for it, and hung it in a fucking museum, where it’s currently delighting pretentious critics and alienating the real people you set out to reach when you started. But I’m just a glorified intern…what do I know? It’s not too late for you to voluntarily remove Lincoln, replace him with something else, a painting you really care about. Trista Braving: If I… If I do that now, do you have any idea what the art world will say about me? Journal: Maybe it’s time you stop giving a shit about what the “art world” thinks about anything. Trista Braving: Get out of here, would you? I’ve got to finish this piece before kickboxing. Take your overpriced B.F.A. and cheap shoes back to whoever you had to blow to get your little ambassadorship."