Evenings in Wonderland: The Attack of the 50 foot Woman

All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide:
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.  --- Charles Luttwig Dodgson.

 

F.

The evening was a little on the cold side. It could have been anywhere in the world, like Hoxton, Mayfair, Otsuka, Ginza, The Marais or Avignon, but it was much closer to home.  The long-awaited, well-Facebooked group show had the usual fabulous double-entendre title, lightly flirting with semiotics. Rigid, egalitarian geometrics and tradition recontextualized. Populist with rich toppings, there was something for everyone, and it looked like they all came.







I spoke with the Fishers, K & Q, about her mother's hair.  The blonde attorney, beautifully hosed and heeled traded talk, smiles and cards with me. Outside, fashionable, frustrated talk. Money, blogs and tripods. Unintentionally offended someone because I did not remember them. So many people to remember. The Smith, as usual, gave me illuminating insights as to the local history of the arts in few words. One of the M&M's was sick, the other two angelic. A connection I had been trying to make for CC unsuccessfully, happened on its own. Hopefully a show will come of it. D., I wanted to see you.









There were several out-of-towners visiting, or in transit, looking a little wistful at what they would leave behind. Energy went around the room like heat lightning on a summer's evening. Red and her sister dazzled. The tidal pull of the Moon in her painting seemed to influence the crowd, as it pulsated, at times spilling widely into the street.










Ran into a cow (skull) rancher on the sidewalk and talked about her bright future. Inside all the available roles for artists and viewers played on. But all the art was not on the walls. With something borrowed, under a full moon, a brilliant, humorous and daring bit of feminist performance art happened --- in a blink. Almost everyone missed it.




Stopped at a restaurant, ate a leisurely dinner with a trio of delightful companions. The evening ended up at a Neomodern juke joint in the WAD taking pictures of a good singer/musician in a black midriff top and red lycra undies while dodging wild dancers. The smell of Montana lead outside, where a dedicated artist painted over his own mural in the dead of night.

--- Luis