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Artist Boz flies across Monaco harbour in self-made hot-air balloon

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In what critics are calling “equal parts daring and delirious,” London‑based multimedia artist Boz today piloted a self‑fashioned hot‑air balloon across the glittering expanse of Monaco Harbour. The impromptu aerial exhibition, dubbed La Traversée de l’Absurd, drew crowds of astonished onlookers both on the quayside and aboard luxury yachts.

Witnesses report that the balloon—crafted from repurposed gallery banners, discarded IKEA curtains, and duct tape—ascended from a secluded dock near the Yacht Club de Monaco shortly after dawn. “It looked like a giant, patchwork lampshade with an attitude problem,” quipped bystander Marie‑Claire Dupont, clutching her morning espresso.

Boz, whose previous works include a life‑sized replica of Nelson’s Column made entirely from stale baguettes, described the voyage as “a soaring metaphor for artistic freedom—and a cheeky jab at overpriced tour‑boat tickets.” In a pre‑flight statement posted on their Instagram Stories, the artist promised “views, ventriloquism, and maybe a minor diplomatic incident.”

The flight itself was punctuated by spontaneous performance elements: midway across the harbour, Boz unfurled a banner reading “Art Isn’t Grounded” and released dozens of biodegradable confetti hearts into the breeze.

After a leisurely five‑minute drift, the craft touched down neatly on a floating platform used for berthing jet skis. Onlookers cheered as Boz disembarked, bowing deeply while cradling a burned‑orange sketchbook. “It’s not every day you see someone redefine the term ‘air mail’,” remarked one astonished tourist.

Having survived the event, Boz plans to auction off fragments of the balloon’s fabric, with proceeds going to his pet dog.

Stay tuned for an exclusive gallery showing this Friday at London’s Neon Loft, where attendees can view charred scraps of curtain, hand‑drawn flight logs, and an installation featuring the ticket stub for the car-park where he parked his Lamborghini during the flight.

My Life as an Art Dealer: “A Highly Combustible Commission”

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By Harissa Beaumont

This could have been the last entry in my diary, but luckily I am still here.

There are times in this job when I wonder if I am an art dealer or an unlicensed explosives handler. This week was one of those times.

It started with a call from an eccentric collector—let’s call him Collector D. He has a reputation for wanting pieces that are not just unique but technically dangerous. His collection includes a sculpture made entirely of melted-down Colt 45s , a taxidermy piece that once leaked something suspicious, and now, his latest obsession: a portrait made entirely from different coloured gunpowder.

“I want something with energy,” he told me over lunch, while slicing into a steak that was aggressively rare. “Something alive.”

“Well,” I said, stirring my third coffee, “You might not be if this portrait goes wrong.”

He grinned. “Exactly. Get Harland Moorhead to make it.”

The artist in question is known for using volatile materials—previous works include a drawing made with rocket fuel and an installation that had to be extinguished mid-opening. “Safety is key,” D reassured me. “It mustn’t just explode randomly.” This was not entirely comforting.

A phone call was all it took. Harland loved the idea and said he actually had a cupboard full of gunpowder that he wasn’t sure how to use – so this commission was ideal.

Once the portrait was complete, the next challenge was where to store it. Gunpowder is not something you can just prop up against a wall. No smoking was allowed anywhere near it, and, as an added precaution, the piece had to be kept behind explosion-proof glass.

Fiona, my gallery assistant, looked at the crate when it arrived and then at me. “If this goes wrong,” she said, “do we technically die in the name of art?”

“Possibly,” I admitted. “But let’s try not to.”

The portrait was spectacular—smoky textures, deep charcoals, and fiery reds. D loved it. The only slight issue? He wanted to hang it in his drawing room, over the fireplace.

“Just a couple of small concerns,” I said carefully. “Will there be fires? And… er… candles?”

“Always,” he said proudly. “I love atmosphere.”

There was a long pause as I considered whether it was my professional duty to explain that his new portrait could, under the right (or rather wrong) conditions, ignite and destroy his entire Georgian townhouse along with much of London.

”We don’t want to cause a second fire of London, so maybe-“

”Don’t we? Imagine the publicity!”

“Make sure it’s always behind the explosion proof glass,” I said. “And, maybe no flambé desserts near it.”

The piece was finally installed, behind its protective casing, with a small but noticeable No Smoking sign discreetly placed nearby. D is thrilled. I, however, will not fully relax until at least a month has passed and I have definitive proof that it has not combusted during the cigar and indoor fireworks dinner party that D was having in its honour.

Until next week,

Harissa