Art Walk reactions.

July Second Saturday Art Walk: More of a Chore Than an Event (Photos)

Art is one of those subjective things pretentious people love to circlejerk around. Some of it is straightforward and simple to appreciate and understand. Like

Piss Christ

, for example. It's just Christ submerged in piss. Simple. Elegant.

Then you get the weird shit that you've gotta nod your head in agreement when the artist tells you the yellow smudge on the corner of the canvas is allegory for greedy corporations. When you get right down to it, art is pretty much just shit coming out of someone's ass. Some would have you believe that's what Art Walk is all about.

The truth is, Art Walk has become more of a chore than an event. You're hanging out on Saturday, not sure what you're going to do, when your damn hipster friend decides you're going to Art Walk and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. So now you're there walking around looking at most of the same art you saw last month, maybe taking a break to check out some Jamaican guy cook up some jerk chicken.

It's literally coming out of someone's ass. No joke.

And you make this awesome "sort of want" face. This Billy Zane clone knows what's up.


break up the monotony, you follow the sound of music. Music is the fun

art. You don't have to stand there and explain why the chords the guitar

player chose represent Islamic oppression of women or whatever bullshit

your liberal arts buddy with chin pubes read in his international

relations elective course book that morning.

Those guitar chords represent a pleasant sound. That's all.

Or maybe you're more into the electronic style shit. So you ignore the

art on your way to a spot with a DJ "spinning", AKA clicking through an

iTunes smart playlist and turning a knob here and there.

DJ Jason Perez

you bite the bullet and look at some random art then formulate some

internal critiques to yourself or your more cynical friends.

"Draw me like one of your French girls."
Inside this horse there's a battalion of Greek soldiers waiting to fuck up all the other art once the gallery closes.
Lady Gaga's mobile phone.


you stumble upon something you think looks pretty cool, maybe it's

because you're a little drunk and delirious, or maybe you genuinely find

it pleasing to look at.

Demet Koc

But soon after you realize there's still a lot of stuff you perceive as

garbage. So you talk to an artist or two and ask them about their work.

You're completely blown the fuck away when one of them tells you their

art is, quite literally, made from garbage.

Or "reclaimed materials" if you wanna get fancy about it.
Lucinda Linderman
​So you make your way back out and keep walking the streets. And some dudes give you Durex condoms. Just because.

"Love" and "condoms" don't really work well in the same sentence. You don't make love with condoms, you fuck.

So all this talk of fucking makes you hungry. The food trucks are the

real draw of Art Walk these days. I mean, really, why pay to sit down in

a nice air-conditioned restaurant with a server providing you with

everything you'll need when you can pay the same amount or more to stand

in the middle of a hot-ass field eating a grilled cheese sandwich while

a couple of compulsive gamblers stand behind you making bets on which

bead of sweat will run down your back and hit your pants first.

Because, admittedly, food trucks are awesome.
​Maybe you want Good Stuff?

What do they sell? Why, good stuff, of course.
​Or perhaps you'd like to satisfy your sweet tooth and speed up the arrival of your forthcoming type II diabetes.

Dolci Peccati

you stuffed your face with gluttonous offerings out of the side of a

truck. It's time to go see more fucking art. You stumble onto some place

where the art is a house. Like, just that, a house-like decoration.

Not sure whose dream.
Oh, Lady Gaga's. Again.
This is what art is, people. Pay attention.
A real fireplace would've just been a copout.
OK, that one is actually pretty damn cool, but toilet paper art brings us back to the "out of the artist's ass" thing.

leave the little house and make your way to your final gallery before

having put in enough time to then claim you walked some art. On your way

there you stumble onto some shit on the floor. You're not sure if it's

supposed to be art or if it's supposed to be some sort of real message.

And your friend's feet work remarkably well in the context of the photo.
​Finally you're at your last gallery. And finally, you get to see some boobs.

Bettie Page's rack and some cheetahs, to be precise.

But before you leave, you have a message for the world. And that message

is: Stop with the fucking planking craze! Seriously, it's so stupid. In

an effort to curb the popularity of planking we've proposed something


Captain Morganing.

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