It's an eerie, unsettling, yet magnificent sight - the 50kg, £1.5m solid gold Kate Moss statue at the British Museum.
With gold being in more demand than ever, the insurance must have gone through the roof. I did think that if the economic climate continued to spiral out of control, the Bank of England could requisition the statue and melt it down. But then we would lose our very own Aphrodite, contorting in her impossible yoga pose and staring out to the Greek goddesses and beauties around her.
That she symbolises the impossibility of beauty and riches, I can stomach. That the artist is reflecting our times is harder to swallow and more so because it is essentially true: That celebrity is the new divinity.
I thought about celebrity again as I walked through Richard Serra's gargantuan steel structures at the Gagosian gallery today.
Serra, whose exhibition opens to the public tomorrow, doesn't come to Britain very often. His work was last seen here in 1992. Yet his name should be shouted from the rooftops, or even just from the top of his vast pieces, which constantly play with form.
He is a champion of seriousness and his work should be more widely known and experienced.
One piece, redolent of the hull of a ship, forced me to walk backwards away from it and compelled me towards it again and again. He used to work in steel mills, and he talks with ease about the construction of his pieces, seeing the grips needed to places his pieces on site as extensions of his arms. There is a heroism to his work which is as much to do with his obsession with process as with the final product.
What is it about sculpture and big sculpture in particular which speaks to our primitive selves. What makes it so potent?