Proper comportment at an art opening
I like to get pretty drunk at art openings and receptions. It enhances the thrill of scaling difficult strangers. And It never hurts to have another. When hobnobbing about art there are hardly any wrong answers. Any missed steps you can just hiss against some perceived snobbery. But the artists! The suns around which orbits all. Their smiles appear on my face with a kind of spooky action at a distance. With them I let all my motives mix and I don’t worry about it. It’s good to say risky things, look risky looks, play a little. Could you too be valued, desired? I love their belts, their ties, purses, rings and necklaces… they draw me, birdlike and instinctual. Yes the artists, such a warm thing. I want to squeeze them so tightly exactly as they feel the maximum ecstasy of recognition, right at its peak. It’s a lovely, self-actualizing affair, and I’m privileged to be a part of it, though I hardly feel a person. I’m more like a large, warm snake around their shoulders, tongue lapping invisible streams of joy.