Beer, Babes and Butoh:The Bridge Motel Blowout, Seattle 9/15/07
Hello all! Sorry for the lack of posts over the summer. Studio updates are coming soon. For now I thought I'd try to give you a taste of the bash at the Bridge Motel last night. Props to all involved in the organization and execution of the complex happening. And it really was a 'happening'.
For those of you who don't already know, the Bridge Motel has been a Seattle icon of sorts for the last 50 years; needles in the sheets and no questions asked. A year ago DK Pan took over as manager with an eye to holding this event just before the motel was to be razed [I thought that was Pan in the picture on the left, holding the red umbrella on the roof of the motel, but it was probably either Sheri Brown or Diana Garcia-Snyder performing "Praying Walk", I think...]. The only stipulation for artists was to avoid the subject of drugs, prostitution, or other obvious cheap motel clichés.
We showed up around 7:30 and jumped right in, though we didn't have the courage to open the door to 'The Van'--Mike Min's contribution to the festivities--at least not at first.
The event drew around 1200 people (according to the people who should know), though the small footprint of the motel and parking lot made it seem like twice that number. We found a place in the line and settled in.
Standing in the phenomenally long line, I thought I heard the sound of howling, and as the crowd parted, there it was, a perfectly preserved, young coyote--stuffed, mind you--sitting in a Red Flyer wagon, flanked by the curious and the confused.
I'm fairly certain it was part of "No Touching Ground, "Guide" - Wolves. Ravens. Owls. Shamans. One of the last storytellers, a northwest pure blood, conjures up his ghost army." I could be wrong, but the crowd did seem rather 'shamanish' and the vibe was decidely in the realm of the undead.
Edging closer to the motel, I managed to distract Drs.Ink and Owning (aka Sierra Nelson and Rachel Kessler) also known as the Vis-a-vis Society, long enought to snap this pic. Though we never made it to their reception desk, they were kind enough to smile for the camera. And yes, they are smarter than you. Isn't that hot!
At the top of the stairs we were met by the two on the left, who managed to entertain the crowd with antics intended to distract but which actually made me quite nervous. Could it have been the blood/paint or simply the fact that just after this picture was taken, I happened to overhear a person who seemed to know what he was talking about quietly say to our hosts that they should try to encourage people to keep moving because the upper balcony was only supposed to be able to hold 200 people at a time, max. Fun!
Our first stop was number 9 in which we found "Ghost Stumps" by Sarah Kavage. I liked these white, porcelain tree stumps Kavage created. I don't think they performed very well in this setting though; the precious nature of the material and the contrast created by their form was overwhelmed by the seediness of the motel, the smelly rug, the dirty matress and the dingy bathroom. One might hope for a kind of tension between the two, but there was really no competition. I can't wait to see these in another setting though. [more info at www.gogoweb.com/kavage]
Our next stop--"8 Legs" by Kathy Kim and Shelly Farnham in room number 8--was one of my favorites of the night. Kim and Farnham transformed the room with string, mirrors and black lights, requiring viewers to crawl on the floor "gingerly" in order to view the installation. They stated that it was intended as an exploration of the "dichotomy of the victim and prey in social webs", and it did indeed conjure feelings of confusion, competition and fear. It was also incredibly beautiful. I went into the middle of the room and rolled onto my back and stayed there for a while, just enjoying their vision. [more here: http://www.hive-mind.com/shelly/farnhamportfolio.htm]
Next stop, number 7 and an installation by our host D.K. Pan called "The World Will Always Welcome Lovers", in which he painted the walls red, covered the floor with 3 inches of sand, and scattered love letters around for viewers to read at their leisure. We slipped off our shoes and socks and stepped onto the cool salt-covered floor; like walking on the beach, only softer. That's Julie in the picture above snapping the pic in the mirror. I'm on the left bending over to read one of the letters. On the television a gold fish swam upside down. Pan's room was generous and tender. I couldn't help but ping back and forth between his intentions and my reaction to the often banal sentiments of the letters. Sentiments which reminded me of my own awkward adolescence [and whose isn't, really?] Sands of Time. As Time Goes By. And a recent project I did called "Love Letters to my Sweetheart the Crack-whore."
PDL's project in room number 10, "Deep Space" was in keeping with their smart-alecky M.O. I liked it. So did the two in the picture above [no, I don't know them but we had some fun messing with PDL]. The performance consisted of the three artists of PDL hidden in the room acting out a kind of space mission. Viewers could watch the performance only on the small television mounted creatively in front of a rear screen projection of a cheezy starfield. But--and this was the key--viewers could communicate with the artists through a vintage intercom system glued to the window. "Mission control to PDL, you are entering a dangerous meteor storm [of irony?]. Take evasive action immediately!"
Room number 11 was too packed [Laura Corsiglia's "Slippage Drawing"] and so we found ourselves next door in number 12, Jack Daws' and Faith Ramos' "Campfire. As hard as it is to imagine, Daws and Ramos managed to clear the room, cut a huge hole in the ceiling, and installed a firepit. They even provided marshmallows and roasting sticks. And was that Bob Wills singing on the tinny radio, or Hank Williams?
I was enjoying the vibe, staring at the fire when Julie said, "Oh my god! What is that?" I turned and looked up and found another Azucar Acida dancer doing their thing on the roof. Excellent!
We pushed our way down the stairs and found ourselves in room number 3, the lounge "Straight up Chillin", which was anything but. As party-goers thrashed the place--accompanied by AC/DC's Back in Black--we saw one reveler pull a photograph off the wall and attempt to walk out with it. When she was grabbed, she put up a particularly dramatic fight, after which she bounced on the bed for a while, apparently unphased by the incident. [Don't tell anyone, but this was my favorite room of the night!]
In rooms 2/5 we found "Implied Violence", a bravado performance that dealt with [as close as I could tell] the machismo of male violence, drugs, rock and roll and action painting. But maybe that wasn't what it was about at all. By this time I was hitting image/performance overload and was badly in need of a drink.
Back outside, we stumbled over Robert Zverina's "Flattened Cans Spiral" and found the pot empty at the One-pot dinner. Still haven't been able to taste one of those dinners.
It was around 10:45 and the crowd was bigger than ever. I bumped into the couple above as he was trying to convince her to come to New York with him. She said yes, and they just looked so happy I had to snap this picture and share it with you. It seemed to represent what the whole night felt like; a great big tub of love! Congratulations to all involved. It was a huge success.
Oh, and I almost forgot about the van, Mike Min's "Don't Come a Knockin'" which consisted of "TOOL, fog machine, laser lights and chicken...in a van, bitches. Let's be chums." By the time we were ready to leave we were pretty exhausted, but as tends to happen when it gets late and you're buzzed/punchy/drunk, we fell back on the old, "I'll do it if you do it" ploy and actually did get up the courage to hop in the back of the smoking, rocking, crowd-intimidating van. It was a highlight of the night and I'd love to tell you all about what happened inside, but as they say, "What happens in the van, stays in the van."
Cheers!
