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How's it hangin' DIA?

Parting Glances

I received an e-mail invite for a gathering of artists during the 32-hour, free-to-the-public opening of the new, $158 million handsomely renovated Detroit Institute of Arts.
9:30 p.m. Black Friday after Thanksgiving in the Kresge Court. So . . .
I try to look the part. Metrosexual gay and semi-suburbosexual creative. Artzy-craftzy. Post Modern. Minimalist, with exuberant touches of Retrograde Art Deco, possibly Neo-Art Nouveau. A little Art Brut, just for conversation.
Not wanting to be too obvious, I wear three rings, two bracelets, my Lotus Import New Delhi silver pendant necklace, with glow-in-the-dark proto-phallic dangles. Bell bottoms. Sandals and Venetian-red crew socks. Patchouli cologne.
I hate crowds, but the possibility of meeting up with likewise adventuresomely attired friends to entice them into exhibiting at the equally brand new, gorgeously designed $5.3 million Affirmations Center Art Gallery space is a grand anticipation too enticing to ignore.
It's a rule of thumb that one never views art (or artists, for that matter) on an empty stomach, so I leave early in search of dinner at nearby eateries. Twingo's is on hiatus (hopefully brief). Cass Cafe is packed. Traffic Jam is lined up two deep. Finally I sit at the bar of an overly packed Majestic Cafe, ordering veal scaloppini — a dish conducive to putting my evening out into Renaissance Italian perspective.
I've noted all day long kazillions of visitors (mostly suburbos) have been treckin' on down to the DIA. Apparently word's gotten out past 9 Mile that the museum showcase is a sight to behold. And so it is, if you can actually see anything for the voyeurs packing in like colorful crayolas in a show-and-tell art corner grab box.
I arrive on time and browse the Gift Shop, looking for an authentic German Expressionistic scarf to add a final touch to my ensemble. I'm told the German Expressionist scarves are all gone. Would I like one with Pre-Columbian motif and matching Aztec broach? Feeling said items might be a bit much (even for me) I decline.
Heading for the Kresge Court I have no choice but to bob along with the human flow. Everyone and everybody's moving every which way. In the dining area a DJ spins hip hop tunes. A few so-called art patrons are shakin' their Rubenesque booties. The cash bar is a-cashing. Ka-ching! Ka-chang! For a moment I feel I'm in the Joe Lewis Arena at hockey time.
Dozens and dozens of volunteers are sporting ASK ME! t-shirts; so I ask an attractive middle-aged blond. She checks her list to be sure there's really a gathering. Confirming, she coos, Are you an artist? Yes, can you tell? I reply, pleased she's picked up on the generous helping of costume clues I've assembled.
I'm tempted to show her my i-Phone selection of recent paintings, but not wanting to take up more of her 20-plus hours of donated docent time, I move into the Kresge Court for the artists gathering. Quelle disappointment! I could just as well have been in Mammoth Cave filled with hundreds of spellbound spelunkers.
There wasn't an inch of free courtyard space. Lighting was several watts too dim. The band reverberated up and replayed itself down. (My glow-in-the-dark New Delhi silver necklace with phallic prototype dangles did occasion comment — and the generous offer of an attractive stranger's seat.)
Hey, I saw few fellow artists. Just tons and tons of eating, drinking, partying patrons, hoping — like the DIA art — to be actually noticed or accidentally seen up close. (Just like me.)

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Topics: Opinions
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