I’ve been asked a lot today about my thoughts on Maurizio Cattelan’s Comedian—the banana duct-taped to a wall that sold for an astonishing $6.2 million at Sotheby’s.

And, oh, I have thoughts.

Let’s start with the obvious: Could that money have been used to house the homeless or feed the poor? Of course. But here’s the thing: art, especially conceptual art, isn’t designed to solve practical problems. Art asks questions, provokes reactions, and challenges perceptions. It’s never just about itself; it’s about the world’s reaction to it.

Does Comedian require tremendous skill to execute? Not at all. It’s literally a banana, some duct tape, and installation instructions. But as Cattelan himself once said, “The idea is the artwork.” What someone is buying here isn’t just the physical components—it’s the concept, the buzz, and the bragging rights.

This isn’t new. Duchamp flipped the art world on its head in 1917 with Fountain, a urinal he signed and declared art. It wasn’t about craftsmanship; it was about challenging the very definition of art. Fast-forward to today, and Cattelan is doing the same thing, albeit with a sense of humor (and potassium).

And let’s be real—this isn’t about need. It’s about status. The collector who bought Comedian likely spent a tiny fraction of their wealth on it. Owning a piece like this signals not just wealth, but an insider’s understanding of contemporary art’s irreverence. It’s a flex—plain and simple.

What’s fascinating, though, is how much conversation this banana has sparked. Cattelan has made us talk—about art, value, privilege, and absurdity. Is that not the point? As he once said, “I’m not a cynic. I’ve always been attracted by the power of images and their capacity to connect.”

Andy Warhol famously quipped, “Art is anything you can get away with.” Cattelan’s banana is the perfect embodiment of that ethos. It’s a prank, a provocation, and a profound statement all at once.

Whether you love it or loathe it, one thing is clear: this banana isn’t going to rot anytime soon in the public imagination. And maybe that’s the real genius.

‘Fin