Even if Britney Spears might not be in total, legitimate control of her life thanks to a seemingly endless battle over terminating the conservatorship that was put in place after she went “cuckoo” in early 2008 (though everyone is always billing it as 2007 because of the shaved head incident), she does seem to be in total control of the art world at the moment. Or so the media would like to peddle with headlines such as “Britney Spears is opening her first art exhibition” “Britney Spears is getting her first ever art show in France” and “Britney Spears’ first ‘solo art show’ will open in France”–all of which seem designed to get the American masses to go tellement fou over the prospect of actually getting a passport (let us not forget that less than fifty percent of them have one) and flying right on over to “Fronce” to get themselves some culture. After all, what could be more sophisticated, more utterly “French” than the floral fare that comprises most of Spears’ work?–seemingly inspired solely by the aesthetic from the …Baby One More Time album artwork.
Yet what no one seems to be pointing out is that 1) this show is not where people automatically presume when they hear “in France” (which is of course the art capital that is Paris) and 2) it is, in fact, in what can be described as the “bumfuck nowhere” region of France (in keeping with Spears’ own bumfuck nowhere origins of the Mississippi and Louisiana regions. Regardless, such bait and switch headlines are of no importance to the American public, a public that lives only to be sold a false bill of goods if it means something like being able to say they went to a pop star’s “art show” “in France,” flagrantly ignoring the fine print of such a gimmick. Never mind that Spears (along with her rep) has denied having any involvement with the “project” or offering up her art to the gallery at all. That gallery being Galerie Sympa, advertising an exhibition that will be entitled “Sometimes You Just Gotta Play!!!!!!” in homage to the Instagram caption that materialized on that immortal day in Las Vegas, 2017 when she first showed us her work in progress to the tune Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 (that painting, mind you, was sold to Robin Leach–RIP to both him and the age of coveting wealth–at an auction hosted by Vegas Cares to benefit the victims of what was and remains the largest mass shooting in U.S. history).
Even if Spears has zero involvement whatsoever in the “exhibit” (unlike her overt participation in the In the Zone “experience” about to kick off in Los Angeles), it won’t stop naive Americans (both fans and casual enthusiasts alike) from attempting to infiltrate Figeac, a place so remote from where U.S. residents naturally envision the Eiffel Tower to be that it can’t even really be classified as “near Toulouse” without it being a stretch. And with the gallery jocularly noting that the spectacle (or perhaps, more accurately, hoax) will endure “till the world ends” (which might not actually allow for that much display time), who knows how many shitkicking Americans might turn up automatically expecting everyone to speak English?
Britney, who once famously stated of former president George W. Bush after 9/11 “gave him license” to finish the war his father started, “Honestly, I think we should just trust our president in every decision that he makes and we should just support that, you know? And be faithful in what happens,” indeed, seems to have much in common with her fellow “good Christian.” Save for the fact that Britney didn’t need to start painting in order to become more empathetic to the public. Instead, what she likely needed it for was a means of art therapy to at least vaguely free herself from the imprisonment that stems from her kind of celebrity. The kind that can convince the average pop culture headline-guzzling American that “in France” is as good as saying “Paris” (not Hilton, who is more instantaneously associated with Britney than the city).
Incidentally, Britney did once illustriously demand in “Work Bitch,” “Party in France” (did she mean Cannes, Nice, what?). So really, it was she who commenced with perpetuating this level of American zeal for vagueness when it comes to geography outside of their own state. And now, France is merely profiting, once more, from “zose laff-ee-bal am-air-ee-cahns.” Which, when pronounced with this cliche accent, iterates that you can’t not (double negatives are allowed in America) naturally think “airhead” when you think “am-air-ee-cahn.” Seemingly weaker(-brained) as opposed to stronger than yesterday. In any case, time will soon tell what’s really being showcased at this exhibit come January 18th in the middle of nowhere France. Though, suffice it to say, the closest to Frenchness Britney–and most of her ilk–will prefer to get is simply eating some French fries. Pomme-frites, if you will.
