It’s funny…gallery nights. People wander around and look at artwork and items created from paper, pigments, metal, and thoughts. They dress up in heels and furs. They drink wine out of plastic cups and stain their teeth pinkish gray. They mingle and laugh and share ideas.
It is an array of old, young, older, and younger yet. It’s an assortment of talents and intentions, a mixture of index fingers on lips and heads nodding in approval of the images in front of them. Postcards and business cards…promotions and self marketing. Awkward glances meeting each other and quickly looking away…back at the art.
The cool kids seem to lead the pack. They wear stocking hats and wear geeky 90’s glasses and have strange sparse molester mustaches. They have paint stained pants and worn in sneakers. They know where the good stuff is…and they flock there. It’s standing room only, a line 4 people deep to sneak a slice of cheese. They stay in their places. They stay while the rest of the population will come and go. They stay and stand their ground…holding the place where the favorite pieces of the night live. It’s like a popularity contest.
They only hang out at the cool kids’ galleries. This is all word of mouth. You have to know the cool kids to be in the know. You won’t know them when you see them. But you’ll know the popular art galleries when you walk into them, and therefore will be able to meet and greet the cool kids. I’ve never really considered myself that cool…