on june 1st 2013 i will finally make use of my dusty, unfinished basement for bushwick open studios. i have thirty one days from today to think of something that will frighten and confuse the numerous, sophisticated, self-important strangers who invade my neighborhood every year expecting a classy Parisian vernissage. i have brainstormed the following short, vague list:
fog, fog machines, goggles & dust masks for gallery patrons, red lights, yellow lights, blue lights, black out the windows with garbage bags, facing staring confusedly down the stairs into the clouds of light, wet pants litter the floor, a shelf of discarded liquor bottles, devil’s spring vodka and one dusty shot glass, a zine with photos and collages of food on the ground, scattered wigs, throaty moaning gurgling on loop, faux gallery setup with b&w print outs of 7th heaven characters and mentally disabled yearbook photos and digimon and some sailor moon and inuyasha, friendly naked artist is present guiding the frightened patrons, a receptionist is at the top of the stairs to give out the zine and offer patrons masks and a drink, only one couple at a time, he wears a glitter suit, photographs of the visitors are available when they leave their email, bedroom with a bed and a hidden and dangerous dungeon haunt that entices patrons into his stinky dark lair behind the boiler room, full of chicken bones and crusty tampons. tiny pictures of art on the walls with are supported by air conditioner units. everything is for sale, it is a silent auction. latex gloves for the patrons so they do not disturb any of the art, and a coat check. a studio with scribbles on napkins pinned to the walls. the artist is there to answer questions.
it’s a start