I sometimes wonder how much of my brain has been constructed around the stories and soundbytes of public radio. I Iisten all the time. I end up in the audiences of live NPR star visitations. I use the miscellany of novel radio facts to instill my own conversations with (hastily appropriated) substance and a (all too thin) veneer of worldly sophistication. Knowing this... its pretty easy to understand why I end up twice a year manning a telephone at the pledge drive of my local public radio station. The pledge drive volunteers are all addicts/junkies/users like me. Pledge drive volunteers have the best conversations. That little room of volunteers packed around a phone bank all subsist on the same snippets of stimulus and aural brian candy. So, whenever you are working a pledge drive shift, you are surrounded by a constant stream of lively chatter oozing with indoctrinated affection for our preferred worldview provider.
And... consequently... when you are in the throws of it all - jacked up on the loving intellectual refrains of YOUR VERY OWN local public radio junkie community - and get a call that goes like this:
Me: "Thank you for calling the KUOW pledge drive. How much would you like to donate tonight?"
Cranky Old Lady: "Not a cent! I think you are a liberal left-wing organization and I hope you go broke!" CLICK.
Well... I have to admit... you giggle. Quietly at first... and then a little more loudly... and then - after telling the rest of the pledge drive volunteers around you what just happened- amplified by a chorus and company of your npr-loving peers.
Sure glad they give you earplugs. It got a kinda loud in there. :]
PART 1: THE DISCLOSURE STATEMENT
Here it is: I HEART bARTersauce!
I can not deny that I have an irrational adoration for my pal Rosalie & her online trading experiment. If you haven’t already, you MUST spend some time on Rosalie’s online community of funkballs (www.bartersauce.com). In this fanciful online kingdom, Rosalie reigns over the irregular-ated free trade of stories, art and other oddities. And we—the plebiscite traders-for-life who make up her subjects—honor her with a persistent feverish glee and enthusiasm for participation rare to the flashpan world of community arts.
Consequently, when Rosalie hosted a visit and presentation from the Museum of Bad Art’s Curator-in-Chief Mike Frank, of course I went! And, of course I loved every moment of it! And, of course I will write nothing critical of such an event in this review! I HEART bARTersauce! I HEART bARTersauce! I HEART bARTersauce!
Ok… I’m sure you get the idea…
That being said, let’s get down to business. Here (finally GOD… as I’m sure you are now thinking)—for your reading pleasure—is my 226 word review of the MOBA event held August 7th at the Stir studio under the Alaskan Way viaduct in Pioneer Square.
PART II: THE MOBA EVENT REVIEW
A delightfully conflicted mix of First Thursday artwalkers and their antiartwalk opposites stuffed themselves enthusiastically into the tiny Stir studio to get a glimpse at some truly terrible art this August. Word that Mike Frank, Curator-In-Chief of the Boston based Museum of Bad Art, was going to be in town for 1 NIGHT ONLY had obviously gotten around.
Cognizant of the carefree and lazy drifting that characterizes the staid tradition of the once-a-month-visual-arts-orgy, Frank’s presentation began when the space was full… when everyone had settled in… and (fingers-crossed) had maybe even purchased some of the wonderfully warped shower art that the Ugly Baby artists that occupy the Stir gallery space are known for.
Conversations overheard during this time hinted at the collective longing of the individual strangers standing shoulder to shoulder in that little room—a palpable anticipation for the moment when it would be socially acceptable to denounce, mock and ridicule that snotty (yet infinitely lovable) little three letter word: art.
The crowd was rewarded. Frank hurled affectionate thoughtful invective at objects with rich tall tale histories and invited his audience to do the same. What, I ask you, could possibly be more fun?
The MOBA event at Stir was a great silly event full of expansive ideas born from an intimate and ridiculous conversation… guilelessly urbane… faux pretentious… and I loved every moment of it.
xoxo, brit
That concludes my love letter. What else did you expect me to say? I HEART bARTersauce!
I sometimes wonder how much of my brain has been constructed around the stories and soundbytes of public radio. I Iisten all the time. I end up in the audiences of live NPR star visitations. I use the miscellany of novel radio facts to instill my own conversations with (hastily appropriated) substance and a (all too thin) veneer of worldly sophistication. Knowing this... its pretty easy to understand why I end up twice a year manning a telephone at the pledge drive of my local public radio station. The pledge drive volunteers are all addicts/junkies/users like me. Pledge drive volunteers have the best conversations. That little room of volunteers packed around a phone bank all subsist on the same snippets of stimulus and aural brian candy. So, whenever you are working a pledge drive shift, you are surrounded by a constant stream of lively chatter oozing with indoctrinated affection for our preferred worldview provider.