In 1992, Rob Pruitt installed black-power posters and soul music records on the walls of a prestigious NY gallery, said it was a commentary on African-Americans and marketing, and waited for impressionable young graduate students to bring him their panties. Instead, he was called a racist and asked to never art again. Six years later, he weaseled his way back into the good graces of the creative community by offering them a 50-foot-long line of coke, which he was smart enough to (barely) disguise as art.
"It's a commentary on how much I love cocaine."
His 1998 installation, fittingly titled Cocaine Buffet, has become something of a legend in the New York art scene. The cocaine was laid out on a series of narrow mirrors that curved and snaked across the floor of a rented studio space for a span longer than a school bus. It was supposedly part of some larger exhibition, but everybody knew what the coke really was: A peace offering that only a New York artist in the '90s with nothing left to lose could come up with.
Art in America Magazine
Yup, that's the face that goes perfectly with the above sentence.