Make Me Famous

Tropic Sprockets by Ian Brockway

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Edward Brezinski (1954–2007) was an American painter who executed countless Neo Expressionist portraits. Directed by Brian Vincent, “Make Me Famous” is a visual portrait of this Brezinski, destined for the outer rings of art gossip and glamour.

On the fringes of Warhol and Basquiat he hungered for fame, but he refused to engage in social stratifications or niceties. He abhorred showy displays of wealth. Although at first dizzying given the sheer number of names and incidents mentioned, the basic events of the painter’s life are easy to follow. What emerges is a stirring and heartfelt story of a hapless yet talented creative man driven to paint.

Brezinski lived in a decrepit New York apartment in the East Village. Rats, one of them diseased, were known to roam freely around the kitchen. Garbage was everywhere.

The painter’s swipe at “fame” has an odd beginning to say the least. In the late 80s, he attended a conceptual show by artist Robert Gober. On display was a full bag of real donuts. Brezinski was outraged that supposedly edible food could be seen as art, and he promptly swallowed the baked good. He was immediately told that the art had been treated with a toxic chemical glaze. Brezinski was taken by ambulance to St. Vincent’s Hospital. Art Infamy was secured with the media talking.

Aside from his gustatory antics, the painter worked ceaselessly with the aid of alcohol. He was passionate and driven. He lived the art of portraiture. Despite hard work, his career came to little as he refused most glittery outings.

At openings, Brezinski passed out his own brochures, an obnoxious trait extremely frowned upon. As he seldom won patrons, the advertisements became increasingly low in quality and hard to read. Brezinski painted on with an almost supernatural zeal.

The specters of Warhol and Basquiat outshone the dedicated painter. The two stars shrug off Brezinski if they pay attention to him at all. Brezinski starts his own gallery space in a vacant room that is little more than a shack. No one, aside from Warhol, had any money. Here with a group of performance artists, Brezinski airs his grievances for the art world. He grows angry and prone to rage, throwing red wine in the face of celebrity art dealer Anna Nosei. Brezinski’s infamy is re-affirmed.

And still, he painted, always continuing. Regarding his work, Brezinski is known for his damning portrait of Nancy Reagan, resembling a skeleton in a bright red dress. It is a striking work of protest art.

Brezinski becomes overwhelmed and disgusted by New York and goes to Europe. In Cannes he becomes sick and passes away. The painter’s past friends seem to remember seeing an askew and limping figure in the south of France, but they can’t be sure. Some of his other acquaintances insist that he is still alive, but even they are vexed by mystery. A wooden grave by the name of Edourd Brezinski is the last clue.

In the film Brezinski is a shadow man, a living representation of Richard Hambleton’s stark stenciled figures. Brezinski floated through art spaces, a human camera along the periphery of silver art stars. He gathered and collected images in the hopes that he could use them later. Only Warhol as a tinsel headed vampire used this floating technique to profitable effect, collecting and recording on leather wings. Seen in this way, Brezinski is Warhol’s Renfield, shuttered away in a hospital in Cannes, dying of consumption, his blood of cadmium paint, thrown in his face, spilled and spent, his blood-letting complete.

Write Ian at ianfree11@yahoo.com