MILAN-- In an era of artistic doubt, it is proper to hold the

occasional memorial. At times, such memorials are personal-- elaborate rituals concerning the moribund anniversary of the passing of a favourite goldfish, a return to the lost Twinkietm source of great inspiration from one's youth. At others, however, the exercising values of memorials are far more universal. Such is the case with this column, where I aim to address the passing of an integral influence of a new generation of art, a primordial launching pad, as it were: namely, the all but complete disappearance of the Valentine Six. Who could ever forget the innovations these brave six brought unto the art world? Who will ever be able to say with certainty that they knew them well? These were six persons who guided us into the movement selflessly. Yet now, just two short years after their introduction onto the scene, they have, for all intents and purposes, disappeared. Sure, there are theories; aren't there always? One member recently had an aliased opening in Milan, another was outed as full-time conspirator in a shady anti-Hirst cartel... But where are the originators, the idealists in all of their group force today? I, like all interested persons, do not have the answers to these and other questions, but I do wish to contribute as best I can to their further investigation with a species of personal homage: personal in the sense that with it I hope to bring a lost message to the children of a generation, so infinitesimally split from my own, that its sole distinction may be just this: that they were never allowed the opportunity to grow from the actual presence of the Valentine Six, whereas I luckily was. As we all know, the world of art is a world of moments. A movement will rise and fall in the length of a single brushstroke, in the time it takes to decide upon the ideal adjective for a given iambic lne. Nonetheless, even with this minute time frame, the Valentine Six managed to leave their mark, to shape the future of contemporary art (even this mighty sextet never dared propose that they shape the future of the past), to imprint their hallmark rebellion in the very foundations of all that is Fraud. In so doing, perhaps the most important thing they have left us is curiosity. We thirst to know just who they were, why they disappeared so suddenly, how they came to be, and if there are any underground plans in the works awaiting us at the next obscure Eastern European exhibit. Perhaps a bit of history is in order. I would like to begin with what, after years of research, distinguishes itself as the indubitable starting point: the Italian proto-Frauds. It is a well established fact that such literary luminaries as Italo Calvino and Umberto Eco could claim a certain measure of influence to or from the divine Fraud. Calvino, for instance, once discussed the concept of how we categorize books. He deigned to include, among more familiar, socially acceptable categories, "Books we have not read but pretend we have" and "Books we have not read but think we have." Perhaps these are not his exact words, in part because his exact words were in Italian, but nevertheless, Calvino was right on track. With this excerpt alone, he demonstrates his recognition of a great ande useful truism: we need not actually waste our younger years in pursuit of expertise to simply garner the posthumous title of expert; for a simple decision to present oneself as an expert from the beginning will do the trick. In other words, society is gullible. No matter how weakly we might unveil our personas, society will latch onto them, re-enforce them with interviews and critiques until, if only by the sheer power of popular opinion and as the annals of history show, they have been validated as actual persons. Once this is the case, one need not justify one's arguments, for the great masses will assume that any doubts they might raise will only be cut down with snappy rebuttals, based upon facts far more obscure than those contained within their inferior reference libraries. Rather than embarass themselves in front of the academic public, they prefer to bow to the genius and cite him in their own arguments and critiques. Perfect. Step one: already there. Art is a world of moments. A movement will rise and fall in the length of a single brushstroke, in the time it takes to decide upon the ideal adjective for a given iambic line. Eco, then, a further and more contemporary development along these same lines, enters into this movement from a different angle. Rather than talk about the false categories whose alleged "reading" qualifies as us as omniscient experts, he bypasses the concept of reading altogether, and goes straight to the more pedantic exercise of university lectures. There, as his characters would have it (in an honesty far greater than the majority of deans and presidents, professors and assistant in Academia today possess) we should enroll in such truly useless classes as Oxymorons and Splitting Hairs. Acknowledging such divergences is as integral to the development of Fraud Art as is Calvino, and of course the Valentine Six. For our heroes, the Valentine Six, did not emerge from a vacuum. On the contrary, they matured in the radical student chaos of Italy in the early latter half of this century, migrating to New York only just before their plans for an art revolution suddenly seemed within reach. There, in the now diminished Little Italy, disguised behind elaborate masks of anonymous café, restaurant, and small shop assistants, they began to weave what would, within the next two decades, come to be perhaps the most significant realization of Fraud Art in the entire final quarter of this century. They began with publicity, but in contrast to typical marketing schemes and shenanigans, their was a subtle experiment in reverse psychology. Soon, the Big Apple was literally peppered with their propoganda, which demanded their own deaths, presented them as bona fide public enemies, and even crossed linguistic boundaries to assure that their seemingly odious presence be attacked not only by the dominant Anglo culture of the nation, but by the entire world. Within a year, their black, yellow, and red signs were notorious, and public opinion was roiled up about... it knew not exactly what. So, with a fair amount of fame, or infamy behind them, they mounted their first, intentionally disastrous show. Trendspotters from the art world over arrived at what was expected to be an iconoclastic event. Not so. The pieces exhibited were merely traditional portraits, with nods to Da Vinci, Titian and Rafael. Certainly, their execution was masterly, belying the true skill upon which their innovative self-marketing rested, but in a world which increasingly valued shock over talent, the beautifully contoured hands and pensive eyes, the shadowed backgrounds and the masterly eye for perspective and light were ignored. With the waves of disappointed spectators, who left the recently-opened and soon-after-closed gallery far faster than they had rushed to arrive, their second goal was realized. They had now escaped from the strangling clutches of the Art Establishment, the socialite group of horse-riders and Hamptons-going self-proclaimed critics who, with a snap of the fingers and an open or closed wallet, could easily determine the success of failure of any new movement or idea. What was left then, were the few truly sharp-witted admirers who, upon applying the simple two plus two formula of eccentrix publicity and true skill together, were quick to realize the awesome presence before which they stood. These six artists who, blending in with the crowd of spectators, "missed" their own opening were a force to be recognized, and from whom we would hear again. It didn't take long. Soon, New York was alight by their fly-by-night exhibits and notorious celebrations. Members were secretly inducted and the Valentine Six became, in actuality if not in name, the Valentine 17. Of course, the driving force continued to be the original members who, with occasional visits to the fatherland, expanded the horizons of the group into the all-important playing field of Europe. In 1996, seven of their gallery shows and fifteen of their excellent and cutting edge parties were hosted in New York. The same year, similar expositions arrived in Milan, Florence, Nice, Munich, and Paris. There seemed to be no stopping them. Their names hung upon the tips of a hundred art critics' pens, their sly and short-lived exhibitions were events not to be missed from Prague to Paris, and from Pensacola to Portland. Then, suddenly, at the end of this culminative year, they disappeared. Friends in the know could no longer contact them in their former Little Italy walk-ups; scholars and dilettantes alike could no longer inform themselves through even the most improbable means of a new show or soiree; gossip columnists began to hint at a scandalous demise. The truth, however, is neither so dire, nor so clear. Had their end been a true collapse (of friendship, dedication or funds) the disappearance could never have been so complete. And many of their one-time admirers and patrons, including such notables as Lumami Juvisado, Samuel S. Pierce and Rrandom Bodega, have continued in their footsteps, calling upon the truer, deeper meanings of the Fraud they left as legacy. Some theorize that they will return, that this, like so many of their previous acts is but a time of planning, moving, and eventually, shaking and stirring of an art world once more on the verge of narcolepsy. We can only hope, and in the meantime, remember. -Mario Scivolo, Italian Correspondent © k-band, 1999