What Happened?
Already it has been at least three weeks since visiting New York and still I am finding it difficult to focus on anything but the following: my death-defying cross-Brooklyn (and first) ride on a tall bike; vegan chili dogs; and the unclassifiable new sculptures by Bryan Savitz that defy not only categorization and definition, but a fixedness and stability, not through denial but rather by their protean ability to exist in various roles (art-historical, aesthetic, conceptual, etc.) simultaneously. Just take a look:
The photos do them absolutely no justice, but that’s the internet for you. Guess you had to be there. www.rare-gallery.com
I have tried to keep up with the deluge of events that have been taking place the last two weeks, but I succumbed in drunken-like exhaustion at a certain point. Probably just blacked out and went zombie style. And that was like Wednesday. Fortunately, my domestic partnership requires that a small surveillance camera be attached somewhere on my person, just in case of benders and the like. Here is a run-down of the tape.
Saturday night, I ditched out on the family when local artist and deadbeat like myself, Ruben N. picked me up in his newly-tricked out German automobile. Umber studios received us like we had just scored a half dozen Eightballs, which he had. Though the imagery is somewhat blurry, it appears we were taking in the reception for the collaborative drawing, painting and collage work of Andy Ducette, Ric Stultz and Michael Winslow. But you would have thought the party was for us - the lights weren’t even on when we showed up and I don’t even know who those artist guys are, but once we did, that 42nd St. art space began to glow.
Tuesday afternoon, Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, a pair of recent GED recipients-turned security guards inexplicably get way too rough with me during my attempt to retrieve pretty much world famous artists Jo Jackson and Chris Johanson. The newly arrived visitors were aghast at the sight of their driver slammed face down on the pavement atop his half-finished six pack. Talk about slamming some brewskis! (Too easy.)
Thursday night, Walker Art Center, after an absolutely hilarious and mind-altering conversation between the visiting artists, we are chased willy-nilly through Loring Park by ravenous paparazzi and random player haters, down Hennepin Avenue, across half of downtown until we reach the Monte Carlo, one of Minneapolis’ oldest restaurants. Thank goodness they were still serving dinner, but seriously, it’s 2008, guys can keep their hats on at the table.
Saturday night, the big Opening Reception at Art of This for the visiting artists, a tremendous and supportive turn-out of locals who like to have a good time. A quick apology to the TAC faithful who showed up with bells on, only to be slightly slighted by the guests of the night. That was the most youth we have ever had at the space, and we hope you won’t forget where we are. Big ups, as they might say.
If you were at the Dirtbombs show and I didn’t say hello, it may have been because I was too blown away by their cover of INXS’ Need You Tonight. It’s unexplainable, but goddamm, for one rainy Saturday night it was the jam. Here’s the image from my low-jack.
This may have been the longest bloggity-blo-blog of my life. The past four weeks have just been that way. There should be all sorts of wacky spectacky coming up in the the not-too-far future and I hope to see you there, or at the very least, capture you on video so I can watch it at home the next day. C’mon!