It is often said that Damien Hirst’s shark in a tank came about in 1991 because Charles Saatchi had asked him what he would do if he had the means to do whatever he wanted. Of course, Saatchi had the means. No-one ever notices that this story, apocryphal or not, comes straight from The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night. Remember, Saatchi was born in Baghdad, the city of Harun al-Rashid, the Prince of Believers. To complete the picture, Hirst hails from the industrial Manchester.

Addendum I (April 15, 2000)

Yesterday I called Dan Crowe to see whether he would be going to the opening of Jay Jopling’s new gallery. He told me that he and Christoph Klauke would meet at Giles Prince’s in Cheshire Street, whence they would all go to Hoxton Square up Brick Lane. I decided to join them. At some point Giles pulled out my postcard with this piece pasted on it. “Are you sure Hirst is from Manchester?” he asked. I told him I was not. “You must be careful about things like these,” he said. “Se non è vero, è ben’ trovato,” I replied. In fact, Hirst is from the industrial Leeds, a much less impressive place than Manchester. I was only doing him a favor.

Addendum II (April 16, 2000)

I sent the original piece to some fifty people the same day it was written or perhaps a day later. The original piece with the addendum is now going back to the same people plus a few others, like Damien Hirst, for example. I pasted the text on postcards advertising Financial Times. According to the advert, their newspaper “comes back.” The postcard itself shows a photograph of a boomerang with Australian animals in Aboriginal style painted on it. Before I walked to the mailbox, which is at the entrance into Abbot’s Walk less than a minute away, I laid out all the cards on the floor to get a feeling for the spectrum of people who will soon receive them: artists, literary people, critics, art historians, gallerists. Then I realized that some poor art historian will be hunting for these one day, trying to figure out how many I sent out, who were the recipients, and the like. He or she will feel lucky to find a few, whereas they are all right here, in front of me—still clean and crisp, still untouched by life itself. I was getting sentimental.

Addendum III (February 28, 2002)

As it turns out, Damien Hirst was born in Bristol in 1965. This is what I found pasted on the wall of his pharmacy installation at Tate Modern. They must know what they are talking about. The connection with the industrial north, which sticks to the prince of YBAs like truth, appears to be pure fiction. Even I got duped.