May. 21st, 2010 11:56 pm
All on my own
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muckefuckTonight I took myself out. That's something I haven't done in a long time. A friend was exhibiting his art at the Cornelia Arts Center and, never having been there before, I had no idea it was a complex of roughly forty separate studios within a former industrial building. (I got the whole potted history from one of the artists. IIRC it was: ice factory, clayworks, crackhouse, lofts, studios.) And I had no idea that seven eighths of them were open for visitors. And I couldn't remember the name of the artist who'd given my friend space to exhibit within his studio.
So I rambled merrily through the labyrinthine corridors until I eventually spotted one of my friend's pieces on a wall, with a note attached to it directing one to the studio. I purposely arrived early so we might chat a bit, and as things got busy, I slipped away to explore the other studios. It was the usual mixed bag: lotta crap, some nice pieces. I felt a strong urge to buy something, but found it impossibly hard to choose. As you all know, the basic problem is I hate spending money. It's not that I don't see things I think are worth spending money on, it's that I see too many things I like. With practical items, there's a natural limit to this indecision: sooner or later, I really need to become the owner of a couch (or pair of boots or teapot or what-have-you), so I'm forced to choose. But I don't have to own any art. So there's no way to strongarm me into paring down the choices, since anything is an excess I might regret.
Fortunately, I was saved by my tummy. On the map, the arts centre is tantalisingly close to Café Meinl; in real life, it's a bit further than that, but miraculously the weather held and it was actually quite pleasant strolling through West Lakeview (particularly after the close atmosphere of the upper-floor lofts). I found a table as far from possible from the duo warming up (which turned out to be a wise choice since the violinist was excruciatingly bad) and occupied it to two hours, during which I had a flavoured lemonade, fancy-shmancy Spätzle, an Esterházy-Schnitt, and a cup of rooibos tea without any rooibos in it. (Or something.) The tea was fine, the lemonade uncommonly good, the dessert an old favourite, and the Spätzle just a wee bit disappointing. (How many peas would you expect to find in "English Pea Spätzle"? I'll wager none of you out there answered "Less than twelve".)
As I lingered at the table I weighed my options. Go back to the open house? Go out to a bar? Pay a surprise visit to friends in the area? In the end, I decided the prudent thing was to head home and rest up, so I'll be fresh as a dandelion for breakfast with the 'rents tomorrow morning.
So I rambled merrily through the labyrinthine corridors until I eventually spotted one of my friend's pieces on a wall, with a note attached to it directing one to the studio. I purposely arrived early so we might chat a bit, and as things got busy, I slipped away to explore the other studios. It was the usual mixed bag: lotta crap, some nice pieces. I felt a strong urge to buy something, but found it impossibly hard to choose. As you all know, the basic problem is I hate spending money. It's not that I don't see things I think are worth spending money on, it's that I see too many things I like. With practical items, there's a natural limit to this indecision: sooner or later, I really need to become the owner of a couch (or pair of boots or teapot or what-have-you), so I'm forced to choose. But I don't have to own any art. So there's no way to strongarm me into paring down the choices, since anything is an excess I might regret.
Fortunately, I was saved by my tummy. On the map, the arts centre is tantalisingly close to Café Meinl; in real life, it's a bit further than that, but miraculously the weather held and it was actually quite pleasant strolling through West Lakeview (particularly after the close atmosphere of the upper-floor lofts). I found a table as far from possible from the duo warming up (which turned out to be a wise choice since the violinist was excruciatingly bad) and occupied it to two hours, during which I had a flavoured lemonade, fancy-shmancy Spätzle, an Esterházy-Schnitt, and a cup of rooibos tea without any rooibos in it. (Or something.) The tea was fine, the lemonade uncommonly good, the dessert an old favourite, and the Spätzle just a wee bit disappointing. (How many peas would you expect to find in "English Pea Spätzle"? I'll wager none of you out there answered "Less than twelve".)
As I lingered at the table I weighed my options. Go back to the open house? Go out to a bar? Pay a surprise visit to friends in the area? In the end, I decided the prudent thing was to head home and rest up, so I'll be fresh as a dandelion for breakfast with the 'rents tomorrow morning.
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