Art-Looking with Erin & Corey

Corey and I try to swing by the Mattress Factory once or twice a year to stare studiously at Contemporary Art, but when my friend Sandy recently visited and reported back that there was a CIRCUS EXHIBIT, I quickly texted Corey because OK, we need to see this ASAP.

I didn’t know until we got there that it was INTERACTIVE. And there was a whole shelf of paper mache masks to wear while attempting to walk a tightrope and ride a tiny bicycle! (Corey spent the rest of the afternoon convinced that he had contracted ebola and/or measles because of the mask. And hey, why not!?)

 

Something close to 87 voices in my head told me that it would be a bad idea to try out the German hamster wheel, but when do I ever listen. The first time I tried it, I didn’t expect it to start tilting so far to the right so I screamed like Michael Jackson and jumped off with so much  momentum, that there was almost an Erin-shaped outline in the wall from where I crashed through when I was unable to stop running. Thank god I had an audience for this!

But then I saw Corey do it and he made it look so easy (“Look, you just have to Stretch Armstrong yourself so you’re super-tall like me and then it’s fine!”) so I decided to try once more, pretending like I don’t have T-Rex arms.

Except no. Now with my feet strapped in and my hands gripping the appropriate handles, I felt like I was being quartered! And then it started tipping but this time I had no momentum (I know this because every time Corey re-watched the video, he would laugh and say, “YOU HAD NO MOMENTUM! HAHA!”) so I just kind of hung there, wailing, “I’m stuck. I’M STUCK. I’M STUCCCCK” until Corey finally ran over to help me. It reminded me of the time I was four-years-old and our asshole neighbor left me in her tree house, knowing I was too afraid to climb the ladder to get down, and didn’t TELL ANYONE I NEEDED HELP. Her dad eventually came out and found me (in my mind, it was nighttime and I was shivering, but it probably was only around 30 minutes after the fact) and then people wondered why I bit that bitch on the face later. DON’T FUCK WITH ME, I HAVE TEETH.

(No joke, A-ron was just over here talking to Patrick and me and then he said, “OK, I’m going to leave you fine young cannibals…” and I’m like HOW DOES HE KNOW!?)

(My first impulse to this day is to lunge at Henry with bared teeth. I guess I never grew out of that phase.)

Ahem. So anyway. The same people were still watching and you know what? I DIDN’T CARE THAT THEY HEARD ME CRY LIKE A BABY. Oh god, did they laugh.

In addition to making an asshole of myself on the German hamster wheel, I also took it upon myself to straddle a tiny bicycle, which my audience explained that no one was able to ride it. Oh, I rode it alright. Almost straight into the side of the tent. Corey said it was his favorite moment of the day. I’M SURE.

Corey would be a much more graceful circus performer than me. I’d only be able to accidental laughs. STORY OF MY LIFE.

Then we left that part of the floor and realized there was a disclaimer outside of the exhibit, and for good reason!

“You know what would have made that even better?” I said to Corey in the next room. “IF JANNA HAD BEEN THERE TOO!” And then we started laughing at Janna, who wasn’t even there, but that’s OK. She’s used to it.

Incidentally, Janna couldn’t go with us because she was with her mom, buying an ACTUAL MATTRESS.

This room was cool. It had tiny buildings and circle things.

See?! I took pictures so that you too could try and figure out contemporary art. Quiz at the end.

 

A lot of these reminded me of the building I work in so that was kind of a killjoy, being reminded of work while playing.

So futuristic! Such mini!

I really enjoyed this room because it was fun to look at it and accessible. I didn’t feel the need to struggle to find the bigger picture or hidden meaning. Plus, everything was made from recycled objects!

Spots and Dots. Funny story about this jacket (OK, not really funny) but I was rooting around in the attic Saturday morning for photo shoot costumes, and found this old jacket that I haven’t worn in 15 years because Fat Happens. Out of curiosity, I shrugged it on and was pleasantly surprised to see that it (mostly) fits! And by mostly I mean “enough to wear it without feeling like Fat Man ->Tiny Blazer.” One of the docents there even complimented me on it and she definitely had that Slightly-Dirty Art Student look about her, so you know that’s a big deal. (Is it though?)

Anyway, a few days later, I was on the trolley and right before we headed into town, the man next to me said, “Excuse me.” NO ONE ever talks to each other on the trolley in the morning (thank god), so I thought he was signaling to me that he needed me to move so he could get off at the next stop. I started to rise, when he put his hand on my arm (and here is where I died a little) and asked, “Where did you get this jacket?”

So of course, I’m thinking, “Why the fuck does some middle-aged man care about where I got my jacket?” UNLESS this was the same coat his WIFE was wearing the night he caught her having an affair and now he was feeling the uncontrollable desire to shank me in the same manner he had shanked her.

But no, he was only inquiring because he felt that his daughter would love it.

OR SO HE SAYS.

 

What does it all mean!? I don’t know.  I always carry along the information sheet that you’re supposed to consult while eyeballing the art, but I rarely read it because I’m already so overstimulated. So then it’s hours later and I’m skimming it at home and realize that were certain things we were supposed to be looking for, etc. My attention span is not exactly museum-caliber.

Or, sometimes I start reading it but my mind is like OVERSTIMULATION! PUT PAPER DOWN AND TOUCH ART!

This needs to be tattooed on my fucking body, now.

 

This was an installation the basement, where mist was sprinkling down from the ceiling and a rainbow was projected through it. I was more interested in repeatedly shoving my fist through the droplets to actually read what was going on in there.

 

I bet Henry can relate to this.

 

Sometimes, I think it’s OK to not “understand” art. I barely understand my own “art.” But I sure love going to art galleries and museums and looking. It beats staring at a TV screen all day!