It was the opening night of an art show where my friend Susie had one of her pictures on display. So I headed across town to the gallery to show my support and take a look at some of the art.
It was a massive building, the gallery, with floor after floor, after floor of winding corridors and empty rooms. Having peered through door after door into empty rooms of nothing, I was just about to admit that I was probably lost, when on approaching the next door, I heard voices coming from inside. I looked through the window and saw a huddle of people standing together. Ah, this must be it, I assumed, so I opened the door and went in.
Wow, what a big mistake that was! For little did I know when walked into the room that the other people in there were all artists about to start a still life painting class, and were eagerly waiting for the model to arrive to pose nude for them – who they all thought was me!
A very scary situation and not something I would recommend getting into. Without a moments delay, I strongly explained that it was most definitely not me and made a very speedy exit out of that room! It was just as well I’m as fast as a ninja so I could get out of there quick. Well I’m bound to be really as I am a ninja. But if I wasn’t, I don’t know what would have happened. Their paint brushes were poised and that was not the kind of evening I had in mind when Susie invited me over to the gallery by any means.
I turned around and headed in the opposite direction, following my nose away from the smell of oil paint and turpentine. I ran down the stairs and didn’t stop until I reached the basement, where fortunately I bumped straight into my friend Susie. She thrust a drink into my hand and took me on a whirlwind tour of the art show, introducing me to her wild friends, mad artists and promoters all networking together along the way.
We arrived at her painting. It was the kind of picture that makes you tilt you head to one side when looking at it, subconsciously, and when I looked around at the other people by the picture, we were all hanging our heads lopsided.
In a sort of bizarre daze, I stood there with my head on one side gazing at the picture. By then of course, I was off Susie’s tour. I could see the rest of her crowd in the distance over at the other side of the room but left on my own, made the choice to meander around the rest of the showroom at my own leisurely pace, hoping that I’d bump into my flat mate Eric who was also supposed to be here.
The air inside was stuffy and smelt like antiques. I didn’t really know what antiques smelt like but I think that was it. Or perhaps the air was stale like dried up acrylic paint. There was the sound of clanking empty bottles from the bar and a buzz of conversation. No music, just a loud background rumbling of artistic chatter.
Amongst all the eccentricity, way out there outfits and outlandish hairstyles of the artists, I (thankfully still fully clothed) seemed to fit right in dressed as a ninja. I was just being myself but one mad art guy commented as he passed me ‘Good outfit ninja’ and nodded.
It was a surreal evening. In fact almost everything was in some way breaking the barriers of what you’d call experimental and verging on the warped and twisted, and it was the more normal, innocent looking art that were the ones to stand out from the crowd.
The wall space was full of various art forms but there were masses of void, empty spaces on the floor. This place could do with a breath of fresh air and some livening up in here, I thought. Everyone is an artist at least once, so maybe tonight it would be my turn. I just so happened to have my pop up tent with me in my bag, so I pitched it on the concrete floor in between fluffy sculptures and wire mesh constructions.
But was it art? I didn’t think so. So I went into my tent for a little nap and to wait until the art show was over.
Forty winks later, I emerged from my canvas hideaway. A sign had been placed at the doorway of my tent reading ‘First Prize Winner - Best Abstract Newcomer. For the project entitled – Sleeping Ninja in Tent'. Oh no. I hoped my friend Susie, the real artist, wouldn’t be cross.
Well I wasn’t a sleeping ninja anymore. The cameras clicking away and light from the flashes shining into the tent had woken me up. I posed for a few shots from the paparazzi. Oddly they all insisted on singing the Lady Gaga song Paparazzi as they snapped away. The night was getting weirder and weirder by the minute!
Onlookers enquired ‘How much for your camping sculpture ninja?’ ‘It’s very uncomfortable camping on a concrete floor’ I told them. ‘You’d need to get a good roll mat to go with it’ I said. ‘But it’s not for sale’. For it had already been sold to a ninja with a lot of love for camping when I bought it a couple of years ago and nothing could persuade me to part with my trusty tent.
My house mate Eric finally arrived, looking a little sheepish. I wondered where he had been all this time and it turns out he too got a little lost on the way around the gallery, and actually ended up posing nude for the artists himself! Next, a bunch of artists from the still life art class came into room and that was when we knew it was 100% time for us to get out of there! One evening of this surreal art movement had been more than enough for us and we took a long trip to the pub on the way home to restore the convention back into our lives.