The night seemed to have hiber-eat written all over it, and while I was desperately trying to justify couchpotatoist behavior, I came across a new event at the IMA (Indianapolis Museum of Art): Final Fridays.
First Friday is a tradition I had enjoyed for many years. It didn't matter if I was hanging with a friend, meeting up with a group, or going solo. When it first started, you could catch free shuttle buses all around town to the various galleries, most of which offered wine and beer for a donation. Some had live music, lectures, slide shows, and films.
But, and I apologize for the broken record-edness, like a lot of other great things in this town, First Fridays might as well be called "Another Great Event that Became a Family Event." I love your kids, honest I do. I love it that they have no interest in art and instead run bat shit crazy all over the galleries--and that you are here actually to catch up with your friends, not to watch your children or look at art. I love it that you have a double wide stroller that you use as a weapon to get through throngs of people who are trying to study paintings and sculptures. I love it that you dump off vans of unruly teenagers at these galleries where they do nothing but clog the halls and constantly bump into you while they're text walking and flank every exit where they stand and smoke and text and don't move out of the way. I love it that the galleries are open on Saturdays for Family Days, and instead you go on Friday nights and then complain about galleries serving wine and beer "in a family atmosphere."
I don't love it. Enroll your kids in art classes. Take them to galleries, but for God's sake, read them some Little House at night and remind them of the golden rule, will you?
I haven't been to First Friday in over a year. I miss it terribly, but every time a friend goes, they say the same thing: You can't even walk in to half the galleries because they're crawling with little kids who are crawling all over the floors.
But Final Friday was something new, and the great thing about trying something new is that it won't have had a chance to catch on with the masses yet.
To compare, galleries feature local art by local, contemporary artists, usually in storefronts or lofts, with the emphasis on buying art.
The IMA is one of the ten oldest and biggest museums in the country, and sits on 135 wooded acres smack-dab in the middle of town on the beautiful canal. Its campus boasts world-class gardens, a nature park, and a historic mansion, as well as a network of biking and hiking trails. The museum itself houses over 54,000 works spanning 5,000 years. The IMA is a cultural gem to a city like Indianapolis, and some wonderful people keep it vibrant, relevant, and best of all accessible.
But.
It's a museum. Things are housed under glass. Behind velvet ropes. Guarded by security.
That's a good thing for precious works of art, but how could such a place host an interactive, festive atmosphere?
I just had to see for myself. I called my partner, suggested the outing, and for fun I got dressed up, complete with tall skinny boots and a faux fur coat.
With a line-up like this, how could we go wrong?
7:30 pm » Take a Slightly Naughty Tour
Voyeurism: Scene through the Windows at the IMA
The eyes are the windows of the soul, so they say. Peek through some windows and discover what the artists found so fascinating.
8 pm » Express Yourself! The Exquisite Corpse
Your Line or Mine? Surrealist artists exploited the notion of chance by making collective collage images called the cadavre exquis (or exquisite corpse). Add your own marks, lines, and shapes to a community canvas, and explore the unexpected in an exquisite corpse drawing activity. Prepare to be surprised or shocked at the outcome.
8:30 pm » Final Fridays Music Series: Kaleidoscope Jukebox
The music emitting from this jukebox takes you on a kaleidoscopic journey through the past, present and future, hinting at dub, hip hop, downtempo, soul, funk, latin, and jazz.
How many times have I stared at the art and pondered it or just quickly walked by? A docent led us on a tour, offering us insights on the artists, the times, and probed us for what we saw in the paintings. The IMA is home to priceless works by O'Keeffe, Gauguin, Mahler, Seurat, Matisse, Cezanne, and countless others. It has a gallery devoted specifically to Hoosier artists, which I should add, was some of the best in the museum. She offered back stories about how artists came to study, whom they loved, and whom they scorned. Van Gogh's falling out with Gauguin caused him such distress that he was hospitalized for years. That one really struck me, as a falling out with a friend once put me back a night or two. It helped me put it into perspective, reminding me that we're all human. I looked around at all the amazing art, my partner, with whom I was so happy to share the event, and and the city lights out the windows, and something like electricity started pulsing through me.
I looked around the group of people assembled. There were college students. Senior citizens. A 40+ singles group. A farmer. A Marine in uniform. A man in a top hat and cape.
And I'm there. I'm present. I showed up. I observed. I was part of it.
Art is for everyone who will take the time. I found paintings that nearly moved me to tears. I found some whose beauty made me smile wide. Some that made me ponder about the future and past. And in one case, one I would have happily jumped into and lived inside happily ever after.
After the tours, we headed to the piazza and bought some Chilean wine and local cheese, and the next thing I know, one by one, we're surrounded by people we know. I thought about all the times over the past year or two that I've felt I don't belong here--no family, no childhood, adolescent or even early-adult friends, and suddenly I realized that what I have here in Indy is my own community of people, and if it's okay to say, it's a community of people of whom I'm quite proud--photographers, film makers, publishers, and lovers of art and nature, travelers of time and space, and above all friendly faces.
And in my joy and gratitude, I realized something else. Something wasn't bothering me. Or rather, someone. A person I had dated a few years previous was there, too, not-so-subtly encroaching on my personal space, trying to make his presence known. It's not the first time he has done this out in public, and while it's never pleasant, it has never ruined my night. I think we all have one ex, whom, at least in the immediate months following a break-up, has power to turn a good night sour, but this person never had that power. But in the past, I would simply move on and remove myself from the shared environs. But this night was different. Something about this night made me stake out my ground. I had people here. A history. Electricity. I was wanted here.
There was music. The inimitable DJ Kaleidoscope Jukebox was spinning!
I took the dance floor, not knowing a soul.
The DJ was playing a sort of acid groove funk mix, the kind of music I might play if making a film about amoebas. The music sounded like my lava lamp come to life.
And I came to life. My partner did not wish to dance, and I went it alone. Suddenly, various friends and a cast of characters from my loose knit community joined me--a tattoo-covered hippie chick, the farmer with diamond stud earring, my friends, and yes, some kids. Yes, kids.
Kids. Kids were there. They were dancing with me. They were being present with me. Their parents smiled and watched, and they asked me to twirl them and spin them, and I did. To me, they were part of the art of life. Young and old, strangers and friends coming together in dance.
The encroaching ex took to the floor too. He danced next to me maybe five minutes, about as long as it took him to figure out that he wasn't bothering me.
I couldn't be bothered, because the groove was in my heart.
I showed up.
We closed the place. 11 pm, lights up, and we walked back into the cold night, snowflakes dancing above in street lights, already looking forward to cozying up on the couch in the light of my lava lamp, completely smitten with our terrific Friday night in a pretty terrific city in a known crappy month!
a bustling 1800s Indy
and free weed.
For Saturday, I had tickets to the Indiana Repertory Theater (IRT) to see Sondheim's A Little Night Music. I won the tickets to this prestigious fully professional theater by correctly answering a trivia question online. When I picked up the tickets, I noticed they were vouchers for any show of the season. A wonderful idea crossed my mind.
It's no secret that I don't like musicals. They are long and tedious and dippy.
Playing in the smaller theater was a play that I knew my baseball-loving partner would love: Jackie & Me by Steven Dietz, which was based on the best-selling children's book by Dan Gutman, is a sort of fantasy based on Jackie Robinson's rookie year with the Dodgers.
In present day, a twelve-year old boy who is constantly taunted on the baseball field is magically transported to 1947 Brooklyn, where he would witness the first African American to play for Major League Baseball and to become Rookie of the Year.
It was a beautiful story, tidily told--90 tight minutes of action, dialog, and swift pacing. The acting was stupendous, and by the end, we were both laughing tears of joy. We stayed for the actor/director talk-back.
I was dressed up for a night of theater. I figured two nights of snappy dressing in the dead of winter was good for me, and I chose a long sweater dress, a thin belt, black hose, tall boots, a purple hat, and my super cute black trench coat. We were out and about on the town, and after the show, we stopped for dinner at a cozy Italian place called Lorenzos.
Indy has this great tradition called Devour Downtown in which all the restaurants feature special fixed-price menus. It's a great way to experience some fine dining that you might not normally make room for in your budget.
I'm all for living within my means, traveling on a budget, and watching my spending. A very easy way to control spending is to eat many meals at home. I never eat fast food when I can make something quickly, and if given the option for a chain restaurant, I typically take a pass, preferring to save the occasion for something nice.
With a candle on the table, a split of wine, and an elegant menu, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement and made a night of fine theater and fine dining. I guess we could do it more often, but it would be at the cost of other events, and I think it's truly more fun to do it when it's a treat.
Some weekends can be a real treat.
But you gotta show up.
Hiber-eating can wait for a Tue or Wed, but only after I've done a class or two at the gym and done some writing.
January: you were good to me.
February: Bring it!
"Groove is in the Heart" by Dee-Lite, circa....90?
Try not to dance! Try it!
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