To Art Or Not To Art, That Is The Question (scroll to the end for a good recipe)
Is Modern Art Smarter Than Me?
This question was posed by the poet over an early afternoon breakfast. This particular musing was a direct repercussion of our inaugural visit to phoenix�s first Friday. The concept isn�t unique, but a change of pace from the normal drinking field trips that comprise out weekend routines. A slew of artist and their galleries stay open past business hours (until about 10pm) the first Friday of every month. Free trolley services are made available and a wide range of galleries, display spaces and even a few bars get into the mix.
What actually gives the scene a unique feel is its location, downtown phoenix, with most of the galleries located in not exactly the most hospitable locations, i.e. nasty, dirty ghetto. This example was made painfully clear as we bussed over to a gallery that sported lots of performance based art, which was now housed in an old car dealership display room. From here we hoofed it down Grand avenue, and our journey truly began. Along for the ride was the last Zion, a stead fixture in the PHX scene for a decade and our tour guide on our mile long shuffle. He translated neighborhood gang graffiti that was sometimes colorfully displayed, but for the most part, crudely tagged lines of black spray paint. This block was home to the West Side Wet Back Posse, 12th Ave, arranged in graffiti as follow: WSWBP XII. And as we navigated the jungle of broken glass, transmission shops and homeless shelters were side by side with the galleries and the artist that represented them. Stepping over and around homeless men sleeping on the sun roasted sidewalks we moved quickly past un-air-conditioned boxing gyms, liquor stores and seedy motels. I even greeted a pair of prostitutes, who enjoyed belly shaking laughs at my expense, trouping the other directions and slapping each other on the back, their parting words drifting back on a sun-baked breeze, �ahh, what a cutey, he called us LADIES?!?� There was even a brief moment when the last Zion and I explained to the poet that we needed to be on �crack head� watch. This brought a puzzled inquiry from our more youthful companion and chuckles slipped forth from the grizzled veterans. The Zion explained it best: �dude, there is no one more desperate than a crack head in need of a fix. They will roll you in a second and the desperation that feeds them makes them fearless, unpredictable and extremely dangerous. We are prime targets because on nights like this, they are most likely to pray on folks that look like suburbanites and we all definitely look like�well�a bunch of kids from the suburbs.� The poet nodded his understanding and proceeded hence forth with a look of concentrated concern upon his features.
The Bikini was over-rated, but brought our lesbian watching tally screaming up the charts into double digits. Trunk space brought an extremely tall drag queen that I watched until she winked back and some free eats that mostly were exhausted looking vegetables and room temperature wine. We had finally had enough of sweating out our beer before it achieved the desired effect and by 930, I was done with art.
My inability to enjoy this art scene has been bothering me all morning. What past for art this night, to my eyes was nothing more than a collection of over priced junk. A few pieces I did find moderately amusing: A collection of Barbie parts and a cut out sheet with ransom style magazine lettering that was nothing more than Sex type thing from STP, an intriguing sub-way size painting that appeared to be a modern translation of a scene cut from the Sistine chapel and (because of the recent Tiananmen square anniversary) a particular painting that sported the head of a Chinese soldier floating over a sea of convoluted grey and red field was particularly moving. The rest of it I could have created myself with some kindergarten finger paints, most of the actual painted art seemed to be on mismatched canvasses and the sculptures I simply didn�t get at all. The artist themselves were not much help either. Chatting with a couple of them, searching for even snippets of intelligence, I found nothing that could translate into the logic that motivates my day to day dealings. Adding to my perplexion were the droves of seemingly bright folks that meandered about ooohhing and aaahhing, listening to interpretations and nodding their heads in understanding. So why didn�t I fit in?
After much discussion, the answer was simpler than I first thought. Because art is open for interpretation and people interrupt art differently, the actual definition of art can mean many things to many different people. In the case of me and the poet, we simply couldn�t fathom the explanations given by the artist or understand why the weak minded sheep in attendance nodded in unison at whatever great, newly created masterpiece was on display.
As it turns out, modern art isn�t smarter than us; we are just too smart for modern art.
The rest of my evening was spent in a people watching bonanza, from a different angle. Being the semi-creative and cutesy genius that I am, here is my recipe for the rest of my night. I�ll let you know how the next batch turns out.
Recipe for a people watching experiment.
Ingredients:
1 vivacious, intelligent blonde bombshell.
1 part beer, 1 part each of rum, tequila, vodka, whiskey, bourbon and gin, 1 part cigarette, 1 part wine
1 local dive bar (add 1-2 more to added flavor)
1 dozen overly testosterone driven males (adding 1-2 dozen more for added viscosity)
Directions:
Add testosterone driven males to local dive bar. Slowly or rapidly mix in 1 part beer, rum, tequila, vodka, whiskey, bourbon, gin and wine to achieve desired effect. Gently mix in vivacious, intelligent blonde bombshell. Add cigarette as needed.
Stir gently and let set for any where from 5-55 minutes or until desired effect is achieved.
Sit back and watch testosterone driven men fall over each other in an attempt to seduce vivacious, intelligent blonde bombshell.
Repeat as needed.
Enjoy!
**Actual effects will vary by location, satisfaction guaranteed only if you are not one of the sexually driven testosterone driven males.
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