I've been dying to go to an art gallery showing ever since I thought to add goal #77 to my list. And while I was thinking more along the lines of a painting studio, I suppose my excursion last night counts.
You see, last night I headed out to a housewarming party, of sorts, for a photography studio. I thought to myself, 'Photographers. I have to look good.' And I spent nearly an hour getting ready. White dress. Silver Steve Madden sandals. Green Kate Landry clutch. Throw on some makeup, fix my hair...
I get there in a pretty good mood. I say hello to the photographer and his wife. I even meet his daughter.
And then I venture into the studio... and get lost in a throng of fifty-year-old drunken women towing their husbands around like inexperienced truck drivers.
Small studio, huge crowd. Apparently this was one popular photographer.
The amount and variety of people there were both staggering, and, novelist that I am, I couldn't help sitting back and observing not the art, but the people. A woman with a thick accent trying to first locate and then maneuver her way to the bathroom. A couple clearly gossiping about a small group of people laughing in the corner. A few lone husbands, bored out of their minds, banding together to entertain themselves.
It was interesting bunch, and I was surprised to find out that the 'gallery showing' was not so much about the pictures, but about the society. In all of the hubbub, I may have been one of the few people to walk around and actually look at the photographs. Almost everyone else seemed more interested in setting up lunch dates, and bragging about their families, and hitting up the open bar.
So much for patronizing the arts.
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