On the first friday of every month, the art district in downtown Kansas City hosts a big gallery walk, in which admission to all the little galleries are free and, if you get there early enough, wine and treats are provided. The wine goes rather fast. All sorts of people show up, from college age hipsters to middle-aged Johnson County socialites.
The art is okay I suppose, nothing spectacular, aside from a few gems here and there. Mostly the good works are embedded in a sea of tepid quasi-expressionist works and shocking statements that have been done by other artists. I’m not trying to sound bitter, but that’s just how it goes – you can’t strike a home run all the time, and they are mostly small galleries. The cream of the crop go to museums, like the Nelson-Atkins (which has a pretty kick-ass collection, dare I say).
Plus, even if the art was amazing, I would have a hard time being able to see it properly, due to the presence of a phenomenon known as the “Art Shuffle,” which I’ve only seen in American museums and galleries. There is a constant pace to the flow of people walking around in the exhibits, and if you slow down to, I don’t know, actually look at a painting for more than five seconds, you will disrupt the flow and get stepped on by the dead-eyed art patrons behind you in line. I think it must be an American thing. At the museums in the UK, the problem was the opposite – people standing in front of works forever and getting in the way, or people actually pushing you out of the way so that they could get a better look themselves (I’m looking at you, tour group of eighty-year-old French women!). Here, though, most people that aren’t really into art just glance at something and move on, unless it’s a picture of a baby dressed up as a sunflower, or a puppy calendar or something. Maybe it’s just an art-person vs. a non-art person thing.
The main reason to go is to see the other people that go to First Fridays, who are living works of modern art in themselves. For some reason, wacky, off-the-wall fashion is mandatory when attending an artsy event. The JoCo socialites are by far the most entertaining. First Fridays gives them a chance to display their peacock feathers – sometimes, quite literally. The best time is in the summer, when I’ve seen the most eye-assaultingly tragic combinations of bright colors and beads on people who I could otherwise easily see leading company meetings or something. It more than makes up for not being able to see the art when you’ve got a forty year old bleached-blonde woman in front of you in a Joan Collins turban and a checkered pantsuit, or a dude who’s wearing like twenty patterned ties.
Last night, because it was freezing outside, the fashion theme was “show as much skin as you can without actually going naked.” There were those of us who were wearing layers and coats and scarves, and then every once in awhile we’d pass an (always older) woman wearing a midriff-baring camisole covered with a see-through poncho, or a flashy miniskirt and hooker heels. I guess their motivation wasn’t to look artsy so much as twenty-years-younger, and let me tell you now, it doesn’t work. Because the girls that actually are that age, us college students, were snug and warm that night in our non-sexy coats and scarves. And that’s how I likes it.
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