Artisticated

Hello to all, and to all a warm greeting.

I went to the Art Walk here in Denver, Colorado last Friday, and I must admit that I had a really good time. I went with a girl I used to work with and her husband. I didn't know what to expect, since she had never personally presented with a rash of pretentiousness, and I don't think of myself as pretentious, yet I sometimes feel that those whom I meet from under the art rock are, well, maybe a little self-important sometimes, and that things could potentially be awkward, to say the least, at an art-related event.

To my comfort, there were many regular-Joes like myself. Sarah, her husband and I had a nice time perusing the paintings, the sculptures and various other art forms that evening. I didn't but a couple times feel uncomfortable, yet I simply chalked that up to my own self-absorption and general malaise in dealing with humanity at times. There were some things that truly inspired me, and then there were constructs or paintings that simply made me laugh, as others made me nauseous, and some indifferent, just the same.

I felt gay and joyous that no one really gave me a hard time for not wearing a fish-net wife-beater and a feather boa, accompanied with tight pink shorts and white thigh-high boots, or that by no means did I feel ridiculed or labeled unviable for not having ever owned a bottle of Andy Warhol's bottled sweat. Like I said, the crowd was mixed and down-to-earth, the athmosphere friendly and casual.

There were a couple studios where small groups of people, showcased artists I'm assuming, sat around in an organized, planned, randomness in the middle of a room, taking up good walking space, awaiting the return of Michelangelo for the immortal rendering of their respective likenesses. I wanted to go ask if I could get into the sculpture or painting, maybe strike a pose, but felt reluctant not wearing tight, black clothing, and left well-enough alone, as I passed on through.

The truly uplifting, random spaces of various galleries stood in stark contrast to the more austere layouts, lending a dynamic crucible by which we wandered around in for the whole evening. I honestly felt like a child caught up in a labyrinth of color and texture and sound, the mystery and newness of it all, and didn't want to leave the area, until I got hungry and restless, that is, which always seems inevitable. I got a free coffee and a pretzel, and we went about our way.

I have to say that the people were the highlight of the event, as they prove to be at most events where people congregate. Of course, the obligatory loner-crazy-guy came up to me to talk about the nude photograph I stood in front of right then. I felt relieved that he didn't sweat all over me, or breath on me too much, and as a result, felt obligated to make a couple remarks about the photograph, simply to be sociable. I have to rely on humor most of the time, because I don't really know much about art, or the canon of art I should say, and I don't want to get beat up by a band of homosexual nihilists who are fed up with straight, square guys crashing their orgies of aesthetics. Nevertheless, the guy wasn't mean like that, yet I think he just wanted gay sex, and I felt like our discourse in photography probably wouldn't evolve into a life-long friendship afterall. This is not because of his desire for man-love, per se, but because of the fact that I just felt like the cheap village slut being eyeballed and drooled all over, and that is it. I said good-bye, and we went to the next gallery.

We went from one gallery to the next, talking and catching up on some of the people at work and life in general. I couldn't really tell if my friends were having a good time or not, but decided that I would simply stay in the moment and have as good a time as possible, regardless of their lack of titilation. I did feel awkward, nevertheless, being the fatal entertainer and people-pleaser, and wanted to start dancing or clapping or turn Hare Krishna, to instigate a shift in mood. Then, just as I about peeled the skin off of my body, a guy who looked like a mix between a Zulu king and a German mountain climber walked into the room and stood before a giant ball of metal, staring as if the key to life were somehow embedded therein. He circled around the ball of metal numerous times, rubbing his chin all the while, and stopped and stared over and over. We had a good laugh, and I felt refreshed at the same time. Here was a guy who came down from heaven to make me laugh. I love the randomness of life and the people who make it up.

Sarah got tired and wanted to go home shortly after our run-in with the Edelweiss spear-chucker. On the way back to the house, we ran across a group of aliens/A Clockwork Orange cast members/escaped mental patients who were all clustered on the sidewalk, painting and smoking, oblivious to our passing by. This little group made my evening, and I felt as if I could see the night through a whole new perspective, and we walked on back to the house and my friends left.

I reccommend anyone who is in Denver for First Fridays to partake in the Art Walk. The hours are supposedly from 5:30-9pm, but people seemingly stay open much later if they are feeling it. Get some culture, some free food and beverages and some great stories. Sometimes art can keep people from going insane, so they say, and at that I say farewell.