Curiosa: Celebrity Relics, Historical Fossils, And Other Metamorphic Rubbish

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Summary: Barton
Review: Barton's work is amazing. I've seen many of the pieces featured in his book and they are breathtaking and hilarious.

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Summary: Best Giftbook of the Season
Review: I gave Curiosa to friends, relatives and business associates for Christmas this year and it was a hit every time. The book itself is beautifully produced, with gorgeous photography and excellent design. Benes' text is funny, engaging and insightful. Leafing through the book is addictive; once started, it is difficult to put down. I hope Benes produces more books of his work. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil author John Berendt's humorous introduction tells the story of how he saved a prescription medicine bottle ("one nasal douche, use twice daily or as needed") belonging to Roy Rogers for 30 years, not knowing what to do with it but not quite being able to throw it away. When he meant Benes at a dinner party, he knew he had finally found its ultimate home, in one of Benes' museums. Some of Benes' relics could cause squeamishness in a different context, but Benes' work and in particular the beautiful presentation in Curiosa, makes them palatable and meaningful to virtually anyone.

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Summary: Fascinating and not a little strange
Review: I think that readers will most enjoy this book if they, like Benes, have a compulsion for keepsakes. But this book is not a typical museum (even though Benes calls his curio cabinets "museums"-probably ironically?). He preserves mostly mundane everyday objects that are identifiable as extraordinary only by descriptive captions; this is what makes his work fascinating. But Benes doesn't approach "preservation" as a museum would; like saints' relics, he willingly destroys some objects to maximize the number of relics, which he then sells. Most museums would never do that--at least not with a typical painting or sculpture. When Benes got Julia Child's mug, he apparently broke off the handle. He put a Picasso lithograph in a blender, and then sold it in cocaine bottles by the gram. Eventually, when down to the last vial, he blended the remainder with plain paper and sold "cut" Picasso. His work made me think about why we preserve what we do, what it is we are trying to remember and record about our lives and our society, perhaps especially why a brush with celebrity makes an object special. The joy of the book, however, is Benes' storytelling. No less voyeuristic than marveling at his friend's prosthetic testicle or Eunice Shriver's toothbrush, there is guilty pleasure in reading the stories of how Benes or his friends acquired the relics... often by stealing.