As the rain steadily fell, sometimes heavy, sometimes a light drizzle, but consistently fell without a break in the day-or during the weekend even-we hopped in the car and drove towards Camp Bowie Boulevard to visit a friend and make ourselves a part of the local art scene. Although my walls really cannot hold pieces that are sold in the galleries we visited, the talent-not to mention the free wine and hor'doevres-still draw my attention. It seems at times that there's too much talent and not enough venues. Too much talent and not enough people to appreciate. We all want to be rock stars, and movie gods; Angelinas and Warhols; celebrity pop rock actor diva missionaries, but not many of us are. Honestly, though, some of us deserve it. Some of the artwork on display last night shouldn't be shown in a small local salon down the road, but hung in an over sized room and a small plaque mounted next to it reading: Don't Slow Down Number IV mixed media on wood, 2009.
Gallery night happens in Fort Worth twice a year. First in the spring, another in the fall. Local museums such as the Amon Carter, the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, join with local galleries like Art On The Boulevard and Rebecca Low, as well as a good handful of businesses, a local salon or a modern furniture shop, all open their doors to starving artists who itch to find a place to show their work. And for one night, you get in your car and cruise the art district stopping and perusing these shops at your leisure, bumping into friends or acquaintances, making new ones, connecting with artists where one can ask direct questions about inspirations and processes. Or not. Just stand and admire, stick a stick into a block of cheese and move on. The evening is your own and the whole city is an art gallery.
Outside the Salon on West 7th the rain didn't stop the party. Mic and amp set up on the sidewalk a man sang Tom Petty with a stand up bass and guitar accompaniment. Yuppies huddled together underneath a white canopy in the parking lot and sipped their wine and danced on what floor space was available. While this isn't my scene, who can't appreciate people that get out of their apartments and enjoy life a little? We snaked our way through the thin crowd and made our way toward the car.
Driving from door to door while the rain soaked the ground, the street, the steel of the buildings, and the concrete of the street-the whole world mirrored on the road we drove on-I can't help but get inspired with my own art. It's standing inside these art galleries and looking at the work of others that both humbles and challenges me to think differently, and to make those concepts a reality. I'm not Warhol, nor am I even a starving local hanging artwork up at Salon 717, but standing around photographing the world that surrounds me and seeing my shots saved in a little icon of a manila folder on my computer screen really won't get me anywhere either. Hey, I'm not asking for world celebrity. I'm not looking to be star. But, if a couple nights a year I can see my work hanging fancy in a gallery, standing around dressed and vest, wine in hand, work on the wall, at least I can say it was fun.
