This was a densely packed few days – especially filled with people freaking out about my hair.
We went to the Getty. It was nice to watch the sunset. The art was made more enjoyable by the absence of tourists. The guard told me that Thursdays after 3 p.m. was a time that saw the tour group busses gone without too many crowds. Timed that one well.
Then we drove to the Santa Monica Civic for the opening night party of ArtLA. It was fifty bucks a ticket but luckily, I was comped a pass for two. Anyway, the fair was a big swap meet. No galleries exhibited just one artist. Many of the booths had product stacked floor to ceiling. But it was good to see a healthy diverse exhibit of contemporary art in So Cal – it has been 11 years and five weeks since the last one.
Hit the galleries with a friend. The Moira Hahn solo show at Koplin Del Rio was the highlight for me, David Trulli at Earl McGrath was nice as well, but a little too graphic for me to rave about endlessly. Culver City galleries were all installing shows slated to open that weekend while the spaces at 6150 Wilshire were weak. Vielmetter Projects had a Sally Ellesby exhibit along with a painter of trees and nature named Scott Calhoun who – well, the images stayed with me, kind of confounding cross between Audobon illustrative precision and controlled gooey painterly foliage, and then a Jess – like collage twist in places. When I cannot slap an opinion on something that is usually a good sign.
That night my lovely girlfriend and I watched a double feature, Rocky Horror Picture Show (this was to show her how Hedwig was a driblet in the bucket compared to true glam decadence) and Rookie of the Year, a movie that is the polar opposite of everything RHPS stood for.
Went back to the art fair. Again, lots of stuff. Nothing radically offensive, nothing that stopped me in my tracks. Sales seemed slow but people were all getting some networking foundations built.
Here now is my funny art fair story. I was talking to Kim Light in her Faure & Light ArtLA booth and art consultant/collector Michele Eisinberg stopped by (name intentionally misspelled, as I wouldn’t want someone to google her and read the following embarrassing anecdote). So Michele says hello to Kim and looks at me and shockingly says “My, you are looking fabulous!”, and I am all vain and happy and peppy and she says, “We were talking about you just the other day,” and I am curious, and she starts talking to me like I am Patrick Painter, asking me why tommy Solomon would be avoiding her and stuff on a personal biz level. Now, in case you didn’t know, Patrick Painter and I are both (A)White guys, (B) wear black framed glasses, (C) are blond (me for about 72 hours when this happened). Other than those superficial things, Patrick and I do not look at all alike. I am a men’s medium and he has a few XX’s after the L on the tags at his tailor’s. So I waited for her to ask Kim Light a question and politely bolted the fuck out of there.
Saturday night we went to a party at painter Doug Meyer’s house. Had a good talk with Tim Forcum, a painter who I have known since before he showed at Sue Spaid Gallery. He is at d.e.n. in Culver City now.
Went to a family thing at the house I grew up in out in suburbia. Saw many old neighbors and installed my old G-3 in my sister’s pad. Happy birthday, if I don’t win Brother of the Year, I am taking the fuckin’ thing back! My niece handed me a flyer for a Catholic casino night to raise money for her club that wants to travel to Europe to meet the Pope. Some things out that way leave me speechless from deep within the cocooned normalcy of bohemia.