JanetBoydArt

The Contemporary Arts Center, NOLA Now, Part II The Human Figure exhibit, curated by Don Marshal,  last night was fun, inspirational and nostalgic.  Inspirational, because I always want to see what other artist are doing.  Fun, for the people watching.  Nostalgic, because it reminded me of my wonderful bad old days,  the 80's.

Art openings are see and be seen social events.  Steppin' out,  stylin',  making a fashion statement.  The fashion choices making a life style statement. Dave and I saw flocks of punks, bevies of sleek lesbians, pods of posturing artists, video camera faced recorders,  aging flower children,  fashionistas, and that slinky black clad group slouching toward alienation.

I saw only a few people that I knew, in contrast to my bad years when I ran with a pack of socially inappropriate high jinxers. When everyone worth knowing knew everyone worth knowing.

Hot children in the wild New Orleans night, exploring the Bacchanalian side of life.

I ran into old eighties friend Kenny Harrison,  the wonderfully adept Times Picayune artist.  He was clad in a good ole southern seer sucker suit as was George Schmidt.  Kenny introduced us to the artist Jim Dine, his name was familiar to me, but I had to Google him to see how famous he is.   

I spend most of my time like a hermit in the woods.  In my old age I seek peace and quiet, the better to contemplate messages from my muse.  The better to commune with mother nature, which is necessary for my sanity. Going to New Orleans, to an old stomping grounds place, is a big stimulating contrast. 

Oh, oh, oh, back in the bad old eighties, we had some legendary escapades.  I Belonged, belonged to a tribe.  The Contemporary Arts Center was one of our play houses.  A dusty warehouse, it was unkempt and unpolished. I sometimes did studio work there.  Messed around with Sandra Blair (Kween of Krewe of Klones) and created happenings.

 The core of my tribe were The Hemorrhoids, you heard me right, The Hemorrhoid Marching Club.   Our uniform consisted of long john underwear dyed purple,  a hemorrhoid donut pillow as a hat, and an enema bag filled with cocktails hung around the neck. Purple ostrich feathers and purple satin and sequin capes were optional.

Once, at the CAC, The Hemorrhoids danced on stage with Professor Longhair percussing the piano.  We were having so much fun, acting like fools, that they had to run us off the stage for the next act. 

Someone once asked me,  "Why were you called hemorrhoids?"  I said, "Because it is disgusting",  wasnt that obvious, self evident? 

When you slaughter that part of your social mask that maintains "good taste" a bigger world opens up. Boundaries are broken, it makes you more free. You have many more choices.   You can suck cocktails out of the business end of an enema bag.  I guess most of you may, understandably, reasonably, not get it.  I was raised to be a Southern Lady, I needed to bust that constrictive mold.

I am currently reconsidering "good taste" and allowing it back into my mode of operation.  Now I do it by conscious choice,  previously it was a conditioned habit.   Also, I am a grandmother, so I suppose (I am not sure) that I should set a good example, what ever that is. 

Of course my picture,  "Portrait of Charles Neville", is the best in the Human Figure show.  There is a lot of inspirational art work to see.  Two stand out amid all the static.  Under the heading, "I wish that I had thought of that first", is Jane Talton-Ayrod's "Odalisque Plastique".  A satirical redo of a classic odalisque, showing a Barbie doll lying voluptuously on a divan. Behind her, an Aunt Jemima doll (no un P.C. intended) displays a bouquet of flowers from an admirer.

Under the heading,  "I wish that I could paint that well" is Michael Deas oil, "The Frayed Dress".  Michael Deas also sent me to Google for research.  A New Orleans royalty of art, his work is amazing. He has created many impressive portraits for the USA postal system stamps.  Seeing his website, his picture of a woman holding a torch for Columbia Pictures, reminded me again of the bad old eighties.  Through purple clouds of smoke and time, I remember being at Molly's Irish Pub, with my tribe, about 1am, one steamy night.  A man brought in this beautifully rendered painting of the familiar Columbia Pictures logo updated. He had just finished it and wanted to show it off.  Now,  I know that man was Michael Deas. He wasnt quite on my radar before, how could I have missed him?  There are so many creatives in New Orleans.

Time brings interesting changes.  I, previously a tacky trollop galloping with a disruptive bunch of hooligans, now, a sometimes tasteful, usually well behaved grandmother traveling quietly with my third, and best husband, sweet Dave. The Contemporary Arts Center, previously a disheveled playhouse for unruly artists, now, an orderly, structured, architecturally interesting place of recent political upheavals, that is strangely familiar/unfamiliar. 

Peace, Love and Art,  Janet