From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Banksy, London's most famous street graffiti artist, soon became the number one street graffiti artist in the world, at least in terms of commercial value. He elevated street graffiti to the same level as traditional painting, selling for astronomical prices.

But interestingly, those artists who regularly engage in street graffiti in London often dislike Banksy. They believe that Banksy is a speculator, adept at seizing on hot topics and promoting himself. Purely from the perspective of graffiti itself, Banksy's works lack true artistic value.

In 2003, Banksy was considered a newly emerging artist, already possessing a certain influence. Not long ago, he held his first solo art exhibition in a warehouse in East London.

Anson was surprised that Nora was also interested in street art. "So, do you like it?"

Nora: "No."

Crisp and direct.

Anson couldn't help but smile. He thought Nora would offer some polite greetings, at least showing some public relations respect.

However, she didn't.

Nora was very candid. "Honey, in essence, art is a commercial activity. Although I don't want to diminish the cultural value of art itself, in today's market, that's the harsh reality. Obviously, Banksy understands this. He's an excellent product manager."

Anson: "But not an excellent artist?"

Nora gently raised her eyebrows, noncommittal.

Anson already understood the answer. "An excellent product manager is also worthy of recognition. At least, he can guarantee success. I believe many people in Hollywood also think I'm just an excellent product manager."

Nora was taken aback, then chuckled. "Oh, you're more than just a product manager. If you were just a product manager, it would be a waste of talent."

Anson raised his soda water in a gesture of respect and gratitude. "I'll keep that in mind. But now, this product manager might be able to give you a little inspiration."

Nora looked at Anson, listening attentively.

Anson didn't beat around the bush, pointing to the painting in front of them. "I have an idea. Why not add a zero to the price, then place it at the entrance as the first painting, and put a red dot on it, along with my name."

A "red dot" usually indicates that it has been sold; as for the signature, some people like to sign, while others don't, it's all up to them.

Nora immediately understood.

At a young artist's exhibition, if a well-known collector is interested, or if several collectors are competing for a painting at the same time, the market is easily hyped up, just like at an auction.

That's why top collectors often hire agents to go to art exhibitions or auctions to avoid revealing their targets in advance.

But conversely, if a collector wants to raise the price, they often release their name to attract the attention of people in the collecting world.

Now, Anson is preparing to do the same thing, using the name "Anson Wood" to stimulate the market.

The smile in Anson's eyes surged up. "Anyway, it doesn't hurt to try, right?"

Nora also laughed. "Of course. So, do you have any other suggestions?"

Anson stopped while he was ahead, not continuing to interfere. On a professional level, Nora has her strengths, and Anson believes that his mother doesn't need him, an outsider, to interfere. "Yes. Tonight, would I have the honor of inviting you to dinner?"

Nora turned her head to look at the street outside, the number of people was still increasing. "Are you sure? I don't think tonight might be the best time."

Anson: "Don't worry, James Bond always has a second plan."

Nora pursed her lips. "Then, I'll look forward to it."

… …

Lucas Wood was a little doubtful of his eyes:

Looking at the dense crowd of people in front of him, packed and filling both sides of the street, like ever-expanding cola bubbles about to overflow, the already not-so-wide streets of New York became even more cramped and narrow, and he felt like he could be swallowed up at any moment, he suspected he had taken the wrong road.

New York, well, the Lower East Side inherited the chaos and congestion of centuries past, many roads were not carefully planned and named, and house numbers could not be read in order, and you might turn into the wrong alley if you were not careful.

So, what happened ahead, could it be that Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez were out on the street again?

But, Lucas didn't care and wasn't curious, he didn't care at all.

He needed to find a street sign or house number, re-locate, and get back on track.

He was just in New York on a two-week business trip, and a phone call turned him into a chauffeur. After the afternoon meeting, he rushed to the East Village without even having time to change into lighter clothes.

Wait — —

It seems to be here, he didn't take the wrong road, but the crowd was too dense to see clearly, and he couldn't be completely sure for a while.

Until he saw the gallery.

It's just… …

Layer upon layer, the streets on both sides of the gallery entrance were completely filled, and such a scene would not be out of place if it were a movie premiere.

So, what are they doing here?

Lucas looked left and right, trying to find Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez, or Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston, and it took him a long time to realize and a bold guess popped up in his mind:

These people, wouldn't they be here for Anson?

But, why?

Lucas couldn't figure it out. Did these people have nothing better to do, running over to watch Anson do something? Didn't they say that New York was so busy that there wasn't even time to stop and watch the fun?

Thoughts, swirling in his mind.

That black face was even blacker at this time, now he finally understood the reason for Anson's "cry for help", he thought Anson was going to treat him to dinner.

Rustling, rustling.

The eyes of the people on the street were all focused on the black Bentley in front of them, the streamlined lines reflecting the thin sunlight in the Manhattan sky, without a trace of miscellaneous colors, low-key and restrained, faintly revealing a noble luxury, not ostentatious or exaggerated, but easily grabbing attention.

One or two people were talking about it, and all kinds of guesses were flying around.

Then.

The car slowly pulled up and stopped in front of the gallery, those discussions and noises paused briefly for a second, holding their breath for a moment.

Everyone's attention.

The door opened and a man in a dark black suit appeared.

Black suit, black shirt, black leather shoes.

The tall and straight figure was perfectly wrapped in that handmade custom black suit, the cold and detached aura made people dare not look directly at his face easily, only daring to secretly look at that glacier-like straight and sharp jawline.

Imposing.

"… … Who is this?"

"Is he also an actor?"

"Probably a model."

"Is his appearance here a coincidence?"

"Could he be the driver?"

The rustling discussions, mixed with scorching gazes, were boiling in the air, and any slight disturbance could make the whole street surge.