Pop (culture) quiz: which of the following is not a work of art that sold for thousands of dollars:

(a) a leather jacket tossed into a corner

(b) a two-ton stuffed shark

(c) a solid blue canvas

(d) 355 pounds of candy

Answer: it’s a trick question. They all sold for thousands of dollars, and in one case plenty more.

They are all examples of contemporary art discussed in the meticulously detailed, enlightening, and often outrageous The $12 Million Stuffed Shark, by professor and economist Don Thompson.

The book’s titular shark is only the most striking example of the gonzo aspect of contemporary art collecting. The shark, a creation of British (con) artist Damien Hirst — the world’s richest and therefore, by the standards of contemporary art, greatest artist — came with the appropriately pretentious title The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living, which forced viewers to contemplate what they were looking at, other than just a dead shark.

As Thompson details in the best chapter of his book, Hirst never laid a hand on the shark. Hirst doesn’t actually draw or paint; instead, he comes up with an idea, and has the hands-on work done by minions in his art factory. (What Hirst lacks in artistic skill he makes up for with moxie. After selling his stuffed shark for $12 million, he promptly created another stuffed shark and sold that one for $4 million. If Leonardo da Vinci were alive today, he could produce a dozen Mona Lisas and make some real money.)

Hirst has also produced a long-running series of installations based on the contents of pharmacy medicine cabinets (he sold a collection of acetaminophen tablets for $3 million), and “spot paintings” consisting of multicoloured circles on a white background (one of which sold for $1.5 million). And of course, he just supervises their creation. We wouldn’t want the world’s richest artist to actually get paint on his hands now, would we?

Hirst is the most outrageous of the artists and millionaires Thompson details in his yearlong journey through the art world, during which time four works sold for $10 million. Thompson introduces art neophytes like myself to the concept of branding in the art world. In the big-time world of art, brands convey prestige and power. Whether they convey quality in art is another matter. As Thompson writes, “Branding can substitute for critical judgment.”

In a world where nobody can truly answer the question What Is Art, wealthy collectors depend on the select group of branded artists, collectors, museums and auction houses to tell them This Is Art.

Hirst is a branded artist, whose very name ensures sales. Charles Saatchi is a branded collector; if Saatchi owned it or wanted it, its value increases. Christie’s and Sotheby’s are branded auction houses; if a work is auctioned by either house, it instantly becomes an important work. Then there are art fairs. At the 2006 Art Basel art fair, for instance, a wealthy home improvement retailer from Manchester, England, successfully bid 68,000 pounds for an installation consisting of glass boxes containing bronze casts of human excrement, covered in 24-karat gold. (Gold-plated crap. How
appropriate.)

Thompson is not overly critical of the art world he describes. The $12 Million Stuffed Shark is neither a screed nor a rant against the contemporary art world, although it richly deserves a tongue-lashing. At best, he raises a slyly arched eyebrow when discussing some of the more egregious works of “art.” For instance, Thompson describes a work called No-One Ever Leaves — the aforementioned leather jacket tossed in a corner, which sold for $90,000 — Thompson describes its sale as “more than double the artist’s previous work, and almost certainly a world record for any leather jacket.” Regarding Yves Klein’s a solid blue canvas (which sold for $1.8 million), Thompson comments wryly that “Klein’s work is as far as one can go from the requirement that the artist be able to draw, or balance color.” (The Christie’s catalogue describes the work as “windows into the eternal and endless spiritual realm.”)

Oh, and the 355 pounds of candy? That was by Felix Gonzalez-Torres. It was intended to be eaten by visitors, and represented his lover’s wasting away from AIDS.