STAR F*CKER, Murder at the Venice Biennale
written by Baylor Grifte
A trashy, lewd murder mystery taking place at the Venice Biennale exposing the hypocrisy, and corruption of the art world. The collision between art and capitalism turns deadly.
Reading Dates: Friday, October 23 | 5 PM - 6: 30 PM
Location: Provincetown Commons
46 Bradford Street
Provincetown, MA 02657
FREE + OPEN TO THE PUBLIC
Substack
Bitchy:
From Chapter Three: The Party
As she droned on about their art collection, Dashi felt his eyes glaze over. He tried to distract himself by focusing on her wardrobe. Is that some sort of dress with an attached cape? he wondered. No doubt it’s Chanel or some other hideously expensive brand. The caped dress is certainly on trend, yet somehow, she manages to transform it into something frumpy. She really does have superpowers. What would her superhero be named? he mused, Frumpiosa? Lady Frumpus? No Madame La Frump maybe? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Daphne laughing somewhere in the distance. Clearly she had recovered. It felt like hours had gone by. He looked at his watch to see it had only been ten minutes. God-these people! Where the hell is Daphne? How dare she be off having fun without me? Suddenly a hideous thought occurred to him, She’s escaped. And abandoned me!
Spooky:
From Chapter Four: The Walk of Shame
It was barely daybreak and the thin light made it difficult to navigate the empty fondamenta in the thick fog. It seemed to have removed all the colors from the city. The rio which had been a gorgeous turquoise yesterday was now a dull, navy blue. The vibrant ochres and terra- cottas were just a pale imitation of themselves and all the buildings that had looked so romantically decayed yesterday looked shabby and dirty. It was almost as if all of Venice was mourning Benji’s death. Daphne headed for the landmark of the brick campanile of the church of San Barnaba hovering over the fondamenta. She knew it would lead her toward the campo of San Barnaba and eventually the Ca’ Rezzonico vaporetto stop. But even the church belltower had been transformed. Its distinctive pinecone-shaped spire had disappeared into the mist and all that remained was the blurry vertical of the tower. Was it even the San Barnaba campanile? she wondered. The fog was so thick that the street just ended, there was nothing ahead or behind, almost as if she was suspended in time and space. Daphne felt uneasy and stopped to look at her phone to orient herself, but there was no reception. She thought she heard footsteps. She turned to look behind her. No one.