I am going to blame it on Le Tigre. You see, I was listening to them all day long yesterday thanks to the discman technology, and it got me fired up about a lot of stuff. I went gallery hopping last night in Chelsea with Peter and ran into Daniel and Ben while out. We were at the Kashya Hildebrand gallery, and I asked Peter what he thought of the work, because really, I didn't like it, and I wanted confirmation that this dislike was mutual and was hoping that someone could perhaps articulate my dislike of the work. Peter said he didn't like it, and that the work was "feminine." I reacted probably more strongly than I should have about the adjective choice and I think pissed Peter off a little. It's hard when your friends that you like and respect say something that you find offensive, because tension invariably is the result of trying to discuss the offense. But, I think that it is good to have these conversations with friends, that it does establish some bounds for each of you to be aware of. I just need to work on being more delicate in discussing these subjects so I don't alienate people that I like, that I instead can hopefully by being delicate show them why I take offense to certain things, certain habits of speech.
We then went to other galleries and downed more free wine, both of which helped to alleviate the tension, being away from the art that neither of us really liked that much and that set off a tense discussion about gender, and also having more wine to wash away the tension that I was perceiving. We then went and saw two photography shows, the Joe Deal show, which was amazing, and the Robert McCann show, which I also found to be pretty awesome. And I am sure my enjoyment of these two so much had a lot to do with receiving them right after the Thierry Feuz show which I did not like much, but I am also convinced that it had a lot to do with the pretty much insane quantities of wine that I had consumed by this point in the evening. Being inebriated really does remove some of the self-imposed boundaries that we have. This is obviously why dancing like a maniac and making out with people tends to occur when you are drunk, and this is all well-known, but alcohol also removes those boundaries that exist when you are engaged with a work of art. You allow it to possess a meaning that you otherwise would be to socially aware of how you are being perceived to grant it, and usually that awareness of how you are being perceived is you perceiving yourself, too distanced by levels of awareness to engage with the piece on any meaningful level.
It also probably had a lot to do with these two being photo shows. I wonder if I had lived in a pre-photography era if I would have had a more engaged interaction with painting, because as it is now, I find it much harder to be wowed by painting than it is to be wowed by photography. Peter, Daniel, and I then trotted off to SoHo to see the D Troit show. I was way too drunk by this point and as such, remember absolutely nothing about the art, all I remember is that the opening was crowded with young, pretty people.
The three of us then hiked to Ben's apartment, stopping at Au Bon Pain to eat cookies from the dumpster, stopping at Urban Outfitters where Peter's old roommate works and she was more than a little wicked to me for no particular reason, and then we stopped at K-Mart where I stole a pink headband that says "Princess", and where we were going to buy beer, but where I just walked out with a huge case of it because it looked too easy. And it was. Then we drank more at Ben's, listened to a kitschy song by Jerry Falwell and friends singing an anti-evolution song. Who knows where Ben found that record, but its existence is pretty amazing.
Then we went to country night at Nowhere where I ran into Naomi and her cute friend, Michael, who I started making out with shortly after meeting him. The effects of alcohol at work. And I don't know in what context it was mentioned, but he made some reference to "ebonics" and I stopped making out with him, asked him what the hell he was talking about. Again, I am blaming Le Tigre for my bout of righteousness yesterday. And I was appalled and told him good night, stopped making out with him, and talked to Daniel and Clint, the bartender. We were most definitely going to go home together, and I was really into the boy, but then he had to go and be a jackass, and then his unawareness about the offensiveness of that term, stating that it is a real term, that they use it in his college classes made me even more annoyed with him. I am pretty sure when I asked him what he meant by "ebonics" there was some use of the phrase "jive." Cringe cringe. And so, I put an end to our making out. I have never so briskly and determinedly ended anything. It produced an empowering feeling.
I woke up this morning, and my body stunk like sweat and booze and grossness, like an old man. I took a shower. I feel better. This afternoon's agenda includes depositing my paycheck, finally paying my December's rent and then, of course, more gallery openings. Three of which I am so stoked about: the Rev. Billy, the Inez van Lamsweerde & Vinoodh Matadin show, and the Marcel Dzama show!!! Today is good. Yesterday was. And tomorrow will be also. This is wonderful knowledge to possess. Try stopping me.
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