A friend in the know tells me how it’s going to go.
The prominent businessman and arts patron I’m about to dine with/write about is (soon to be) Sir J-.
In sensational news, many years later, he will be sentenced to prison for criminally interfering with men not unlike me, who attend regular soirees at his Auckland mansion.
What happens to those men is horrible. If you want to read about it, google. My story is different. It shares many of the settings, characters and interactions that lead to his vilification, and/but my purpose in recalling it is different.
I want to show you how beautiful and fragile artistic impulses are affected by this kind of thing. In my case, as a result of this dinner, a project that is dear to my heart will change direction, hit a wall and never quite recover.
Let’s take a step back in time, to circa 2011.
I’m working with two close friends on a revolutionary venture that leverages recent advances in mobile phone technology.
We want to build site-specific, augmented reality video guides for galleries and museums.
That means virtual tours by expert guides. Each short video is shot in front of the art/artifact in question, and the video is embedded at the appropriate spot on a gallery/museum floorplan, which can be accessed and experienced on a mobile app.
At the time, it’s pretty cutting edge.
The App Store only launched a couple of years earlier, and I’m really buzzing out on the potential.
I’m particularly excited about this venture because I’ve visited several prestigious galleries in New York and London, to study how they handle their ‘interpretations’ (as these things are called).
Everyone else has got it all wrong.
Galleries and museums are paying a ton of money for these brick walkman-like things that just do audio.
Visual art is a, er… visual medium. So are all museum experiences. So is our app. We just need to prove this in New Zealand, then we’re going to take the world by storm.
It is possible that this venture will make me a millionaire.
In the best way possible: by making art, culture and history more accessible to more people.
👆 is how I think. That’s the kind of optimism that’s required to push these projects through.
My two co-founders and I spend weeks coming up with the name. Then it appears in a blaze of light:
It’s called
We create a pilot version for an exhibition at City Gallery, Wellington
The tough thing with anything like this is getting the right people to back it.
The backing we need includes money, for sure, but it mainly involves access and permission. Before we can turn on the money tap we need to embed this way of augmenting an exhibition experience into the culture of gallery-going.
We want to blow away the competition: audio guides and those little descriptive signs next to the artworks. We need a foot in the door with a gallery that’s willing to host this, and ideally to pay for it.
Sir J- is involved in a gallery that might be willing to to host this, and even to pay for it.
I don’t pitch him directly. I don’t even know if he will be involved. I pitch some official at the gallery. I can’t remember how high up. I don’t shoot for the top with these things. I want to give someone lower down the chance to make the introduction that supercharges their careers. I email him (it’s definitely a him): we want to make a mobile video guide for an exhibition at the gallery - or for a wing of the permanent collection or something. I propose to come in and do a demo. If he likes it, we can discuss a pilot. Ultimately we’re hoping to be paid to make and update video guides for the gallery on an ongoing basis.
That’s the dream.
I’m invited to the gallery to show the official what we’ve got.
He plays with it. He tells me it’s really interesting. He tells me that he’ll have to get me along for a dinner at Sir J-’s house. So I can present it to the man himself.
This pitch couldn’t have gone any better.
I know all about these dinners.
They’re gatherings of the young and gifted. Normally male, and quite often gay. Though not exclusively. There is flex around these things. Nothing is written in stone. The point is that this is a door-opening dinner. Perhaps it will open some doors for me.
So, I’ve been invited to Sir J-’s house for dinner, I tell my friend, who’s been to these dinners before. I ask him what to expect.
He gives me the advice I tweeted out above.
It gives me utter confidence in my personal safety. And a nagging sense that this will all be for nought. A good memory, perhaps.
I drive there with my co-founder in his open-topped VW Polo.
The house is a grand estate on volcanic plains. We come to a gate. We press a button. We announce ourselves. The gate swings open. Down we go.
There are many houses like this in Auckland, but man of the others I’ve seen have been transformed into boarding houses on the side of a main road, or subdivided into places you go to see a medical specialist. This one is holding out.
We’re received into a reception room.
There are several others joining us for dinner.
I know one of them. I recognise him from a different part of the country, and a different time in his life. I recall meeting his girlfriend. Perhaps his child. Now his hair is dyed blond; his ear is pierced; his shirt is fashionably slashed. He’s handsy with Sir J-. We both keep 🤐 about our previous encounters. He’s one of several men who perform the role of staff. I get the sense that they’re regulars and/or live-in guests rather than operating in any professional capacity. There are certainly artists in residence at this place.
My co-founder and I are presented to Sir J-, who is trim, with thin snowy hair. His face is peeling off.
We tell him why we’re there. We pitch Mozivision.
This is not how we pitch it.
This is how we’ll choose/be obliged to pitch it later, to other potential buyers
Because it will immediately become clear that the gallery idea is not going to fly.
Not with Sir J-.
And that’s a tale for another time.
Ok, you've got my curiosity rolling. Hopefully you both took the advice and stayed sober? Did you stay for dinner or only apperitif?