Someone has eaten artist Maurizio Cattelan’s $6 million banana – again

Conceptual art often walks a fine line between provocation and absurdity. Few pieces have illustrated this tension more vividly than Maurizio Cattelan’s “Comedian” — a simple banana duct-taped to a wall, first exhibited at Art Basel Miami Beach in 2019. The artwork quickly became a cultural flashpoint, sparking endless discussions about the definition of art, the value we assign to objects, and the role of performance in contemporary galleries. But more recently, “Comedian” has returned to the spotlight for a reason as audacious as the piece itself: someone has eaten it. Again.

The banana, originally sold for $120,000, is known not so much for the fruit itself as for what it represents — a statement on commerce, value, and perhaps the commodification of creativity. The real work, according to the artist, is not the banana but the certificate of authenticity and the concept behind it. Owners of “Comedian” are instructed to replace the fruit periodically, acknowledging its impermanence and positioning the act of decay as part of the work.

But when visitors consume the art — literally — they take the ephemeral nature of the piece to a new level.

The recent event took place in an exhibition area where “Comedian” was showcased, attached to a plain wall with silver duct tape, as initially designed. An attendee, described as a student, walked up to the artwork and casually removed and consumed the banana before the astonished observers. The whole episode was recorded on video, rapidly spreading across the internet and sparking renewed discussions about artistic expression, purpose, and ownership.

Interestingly, this isn’t the first time someone has consumed Cattelan’s banana. During its initial run at Art Basel, another performance artist named David Datuna made headlines by eating the fruit in front of a crowd, calling the act “art performance” and saying he respected Cattelan’s work. Despite initial confusion and security concerns, Cattelan’s team replaced the banana within minutes. No legal action was taken — and in some ways, Datuna’s act only added to the mythology surrounding the work.

The recurrence of this action says a lot about the characteristics of conceptual art in the era of social platforms. Does consuming the banana act as a self-referential critique of the initial piece? Or is it just a stunt aimed at capturing attention, made possible by the widespread nature of online culture?

Cattelan himself is accustomed to artistic controversy. Recognized for his challenging installations — such as a gold toilet named “America” and a wax figure of Pope John Paul II hit by a meteorite — the Italian creator often mixes satire with seriousness, prompting audiences to question their own perceptions of art.

With “Comedian,” the banana becomes a mirror, reflecting back society’s fascination with spectacle, value, and disruption. Whether duct-taped to a wall or digested by a performance-hungry audience member, the banana resists permanence, acting instead as a symbol of impermanence and absurdity.

Those who criticize conceptual art frequently claim that works such as “Comedian” lack substance and depend more on surprise than craftsmanship. However, supporters point out that the responses it generates — ranging from in-depth articles in prominent newspapers to performance acts — demonstrate its influence. Ultimately, art is not isolated; its significance is formed by surroundings, analysis, and public conversation.

From a legal standpoint, the situation is more complex than it appears. Although the banana is replaceable, eating the fruit could still be considered destruction of property or violation of gallery rules. However, institutions and collectors involved with Cattelan’s work are well aware of its inherently performative nature. They are typically more concerned with preserving the idea and its documentation than the physical banana itself.

This raises important questions about the boundaries of participation in art. If an artwork invites engagement, where is the line between interaction and intrusion? Can an unsanctioned performance become part of the artwork’s evolution? And perhaps most intriguingly: who owns the story that unfolds when an audience member intervenes?

In today’s world dominated by digital content, art images are quickly spread and readily consumed, making the tangible piece of art almost take a back seat to its online portrayal. “Comedian” fits perfectly within this culture — an uncomplicated, nearly ludicrous image that proliferates more swiftly than the majority of great works. The banana attached to a wall is instantly turned into a meme, extraordinarily absurd, and ideally aligned with an internet-focused cultural period.

But while many see the humor, others view the artwork as a critique of the very system that elevates it. By selling a banana for six figures, Cattelan exposes the contradictions of the art world — how value can be detached from material and how commerce and creativity intersect, often uncomfortably.

Whether one sees the banana as a masterpiece or a media stunt, its staying power — both in cultural discourse and repeated performances — is undeniable. Every time someone eats it, they breathe new life into the piece, perhaps even enhancing its legacy. In a world where attention is currency, and where meaning is increasingly collaborative, “Comedian” continues to ripen.

Therefore, when someone else fastens a banana to a different wall in a gallery with white walls, we might ponder: is this the initial jest, a fresh addition, or merely another comment in the continuous dialogue about the true nature of art?