Back to red (sorry, Amy)

Julian Schnabel was interviewed last night on Italian TV. The programme's called Invasioni Barbariche, so it may have been a policy decision to appear so distracted - in the ironic 1960s rock-star sense of really being, like, somewhere else, man - and to wear pyjamas in such a coolly barbaric fashion. Irritatingly, he kept breaking into pidgin Italian, which confused the interpreter, the interviewer - the charming and resourceful Daria Bignardi - and, of course, the audience. He didn't have much to say for himself in either language, apart from complaining briefly that he was forbidden by contract from drinking whisky on the show, although this may have been a joke. When Bignardi asked him why he was wearing pyjamas, he said that he needed the extra space for his balls. This may also have been a joke. It was his birthday, so all is forgiven.

He rose to the bait, though, when she mentioned recent criticism of his rock-star lifestyle, and came out with the old chestnut about how it wouldn't make any difference if he distributed his fabulous wealth among the deserving poor, it would just be a drop in the ocean, and why didn't his critics fuck off and do something useful with their lives. Obviously this morally complex issue has been discussed in depth with friends like Bono, Johnny Depp, er, David Bowie...

She also asked him what he thought about the recent Trevi fountain incident. He said the red was a beautiful red and wanted to know the name of the artist. When Bignardi explained that the dyer's hand, in this case, belonged to a right-wing activist with a criminal record for political violence, he said - wait for it - art is art, whatever. Oh God, he must have read my blog!