|
 No,
it is not the usual art show consisting of snobby people sipping
wine and eating strange foreign cheeses. But a more laid back,
casual South Austin type affair of free beer, zero pressure
and no dress code. Usually, when I hear the words ART SHOW,
I immediately think of some lame-ass dress up event where
one should be on his/her best behavior, meaning no fun. But,
thanks to the likes of Robzar
and his faithful crew of D.I.Y. enthusiasts such as Celeste
Martin, Corri Hubbard, Katrina Cunning, Dianne Scott and local
lighting monkey Bob Ray the art world and artists alike have
a new outlet for their crafts.
Rob
came up with the idea two years ago shortly after doing an
art show through a gallery. Needless to say, he was not very
fond of the outcome. Basically, he thought and viciously maintains
to this day, that galleries taking 50% of the artists selling
price is not only unfair but should be considered absolutely
fucking criminal. His basis for this is, galleries basically
throw a party to show the art and take half the money from
his own blood, sweat and tears. “Fuck!” he thought,
for all I know. “I could throw a party and show my art
and keep all the money from the fruits of my labor.”
And so Guerrillart was born.
Although
Rob despises galleries, he made it abundantly clear that these
are his own feelings and not those of Guerrillart or the artists
involved. After all, having founded this movement did not
make it his socio-political platform but provided a more easily
accessible outlet for all. For instance, my idea of dragging
these bastards from their homes in the middle of the night,
locking them in bamboo cages to be prodded relentlessly through
the bars for no less than three weeks while forcing them to
live in their own human filth and threatened with castration
via the infamous clam knife, was quickly poo-poo’d by
all involved. Rather Guerrillart is just another option for
emerging and established artists, not a threat to the status
quo. No, it will not mean the downfall of galleries and the
rising of a New Art-World Order and that was never its premise.
Instead, it is simply an alternative. Art for the people by
the people, a come one come all collaboration to bring art
to the forefront.
Case
in point. I would wager most readers of this fine news source
do and would readily tromp downtown to pay for a rock show
and booze and maybe try to get laid. Yes, that is supporting
the arts, a fine and noble gesture of philanthropy if ever
there was one. But, few if any of these patrons of the arts
could be lured to a gallery upon hearing coat and tie dress,
being culled from the masses as either one with or without
means and being highly pressured by what Rob refers to as
piranha-faced gorgons to purchase pieces that are over-priced,
due to the galleries 50% off the top iron-fisted grip on the
art racket.
Perhaps
I have been too harsh on the gallery scene suggesting they
are little more than low rent pimps and extortionists. Using
and manipulating these noble creatures until they no longer
have value and then banishing them to the edge of the herd
with the old and the crippled no longer strong enough to fight
their way to the safety of the tightly packed center. Left
for lion fodder on the outskirts to ultimately be consumed
with bones picked clean by carrion, but perhaps their saving
grace will be being dropped as dung back to the earth to fertilize
the grass that will nourish those to come. Now that’s
digression.
 To
be fair, galleries have tremendous overhead. Hey, it’s
business. Few tuxedo clad, upwardly mobile patrons of the
arts are going to slum it on down to, oh say, the eastside
to view and purchase high dollar pieces in an alley or a burned
out warehouse, but feel free to prove me wrong. Yes, downtown
rent is and will always be a motherfucker for the foreseeable
future. You figure one perhaps two gala showings a month,
add in the expenses of wine, stinky cheeses, perhaps caviar,
some flutes and violins. And to say one about to drop nine
grand on an original blurry flowered painting may well want
to maintain a safe, yet discreet distance from commoners such
as myself, would by no means be a stretch. Go ahead and add
on security. Oh and don’t forget utilities, staff, catering,
insurance and soul crushing taxes just for a start. Pay attention
this is where it gets tricky aspiring gallery owners because
you also need to get paid.
So
how did Rob the door guy at the Continental Club get this
off the ground? First by location, every Guerrillart to this
day has been held at his own residence. Originally the location
was to move from place to place keeping with the theme of
the constantly moving guerrilla armies of the rain forests.
It turns out that most people don’t like to drag all
their furniture out of their houses and invite 500 strangers
over to mill about looking at art exhibits. Either does Rob
and he swears as he did at the two preceding shows that this
will absolutely be the last time. So Guerrillart III will
be the third such occasion for Rob to do so and with nobody
hustling for the next one at their house the only thing I
would bet on is there will be Guerrillart IV.
Having
solved that problem, there were still many other details to
be considered. Enter Celeste Martin, the Continental Clubs
bartender/manager of course. Having friends who are artists
and holding the public profession of working in a bar, it
was only natural for her to be able to easily promote and
enlist artists. Celeste herself thought a 50% take was unfair
and she also had friends who had either never done, couldn’t
get into or were intimidated by gallery shows. So climb aboard
she did to handle the business and financing. The fundamental
formula was set forth, 10 artists pay a $50 entrance fee to
help foot the cost of beer, flyers and other incidentals as
well as help with the labor. The trade off being the artists
keeping 100% of their sales which is completely unheard of
in the gallery world. Also, the artists broker their own deals.
So, there are no pushy sales people and the purchaser can
actually meet the artist.
Next
on the scene was Rank and Revue’s own Corri Hubbard
in charge of beer and food among other things. What’s
on the menu you ask? Corri explains it as Frito Pie with Vegetarian
Chili for all the art fags. There will also be Sangria to
keep with the whole Guerrilla theme. Corri’s main interest
in the art show was being able to hang out in the tent known
as “Fort Beer”, drinking all day and flirting
with boys. She enjoys hanging out like a carnie immersed in
the ambiance of South Austin Hillbilliness and who doesn’t.
It is an absolute must to drop by “Fort Beer”
and visit Corri if not for the free beer, but at least to
listen to her tell a few stories that are funny as hell and
to hear her uninhibited laugh that will resonate in your heart
strings.
Had
Katrina Cunning not been drinking and carrying on in the Continental
Club about how much she loved Guerrillart she would still
be free, Rob never would have roped her into it. And now,
he feels free to call her at odd hours on short notice for
huge favors. Katrina was most impressed by Guerrillarts’
laidback atmosphere, not the usual stiff and sterile feel
of gallery shows. There seemed to be something for everyone
at this nontraditional art show. She was so happy to help
the best she could by doing whatever came her way. Her Boy
Scout preparedness was much appreciated by myself as she came
with notes and provided me with a list of the names of the
artists. These details are usually overlooked in the chaos
of such an undertaking, but not on her watch and everything
continues to run smoothly.
Fellow
compatriot and Continental Club employee Dianne Scott is in
charge of press releases and the like, which leaves Rob one
less thing to be concerned with.
Last
but not least we have local lighting monkey Bob Ray, The Continental
Clubs back door man. Are you beginning to see the pattern
here? Bob provides the lights and sets up the lighting schemes
so the art to be shown can actually be seen. He describes
his duties as climbing around in trees, flinging his feces,
masturbating, smoking cigarettes and doing cocaine until he
dies. Rumor has it he is also somehow involved in the local
film community as a writer, director and documentary guy or
some such Hollywood jive.
Rob
freely admits that he gets stressed out by Guerrillart. That
is what pisses him off. He related that it takes a lot of
his time and he couldn’t pull it off without all the
help he gets from the above mentioned. Organizing and getting
everyone’s shit together while dealing with the different
personalities is quite a load. Highlights of this have been
a visit from the Secret Service, who came to Rob’s house
while it was covered in camouflage netting to inquire about
one of the artists who had invited President George W. Bush
and threatened his life. Although the artist will remain nameless,
she was interrogated and released after she was deemed harmless.
Rob
is constantly on the verge of mental collapse, not the safe
curled into the fetal position quiet sobbing in the corner,
but the ugly fit of violent rage type, which let’s face
it, is always more interesting. I met Rob in 1988, whereupon
we would become friends and later roommates. Rob had a job
at Target and I worked at a skate shop and since we did not
exactly pull down the big bucks, we lived upstairs in a four-unit
apartment in a South Austin ghetto. For entertainment on summer
nights, with the windows open for whatever cooling breeze
might mercifully come our way, we would listen to the ex-convict
homosexuals downstairs fight and scream at each other. Their
fights were to say the least shameless, brutal and hilarious.
One yelling at the other, as they chased each other around
the cars in the parking lot shouting “You’re a
prison ho!” The reply I heard will forever be seared
into my memory. “At least I didn’t fuck my daddy!”
We would mute the television and laugh our asses off, which
would only spur them along. Our other neighbor was a parolee
who always had dangerous looking friends and family members
coming over and didn’t want the cops to come around,
so the drama would carry on late into the night. The other
unit was always empty, go figure. Some nights, Rob and I would
engage in drunken karate fighting and wrestling, slamming
furniture into the walls and each others bodies onto the floor.
We would fight with such fury that the fags downstairs would
think we were killing each other and they feared us. Which
was a good thing, I personally was in no hurry to become fast
friends with speed junkie homosexuals that had obvious domestic
problems. The other neighbor saw acts of violence as socially
acceptable and a necessary way of dealing with things. Ah
the ghetto, I’ll never forget gunshots ringing out in
the middle of the night. The result of which was a crack head
that had been shot in the face. The very next night with his
face bandaged he danced out in front of the local corner store,
high as a kite singing the “Muppet Babies” theme
song. It’s the little things you always remember. When
not drunken karate fighting, Rob would sketch and paint and
experiment with other art ideas. To keep the art from piling
up, Rob would give these pieces away. I still have many and
wouldn’t trade them for anything. Eventually, Rob would
move from ghetto to gallery to Guerrillart.
Some things to know before attending the event would be that
a lot of the serious art buyers come early and sales go on
throughout the show. So, if you see something you like and
want it scream aloud, “Hey I wanna buy this.”
Also, once you buy it, you can scurry away immediately with
your newfound treasure. By coming early, you will also have
more pieces to gawk at. Another reason to come early? Parking
will be pretty lousy, so if you can car pool or live close
enough to walk or ride a bike, it would probably make it a
little easier. It goes without saying of course, that free
beer also goes fast. Shoes are also a good idea as the backyard
was a former shooting range and broken glass abounds. Rob
also has a few house rules: Don’t be a jackass. Do be
an adult and behave. Do have fun. No tampons in the toilet.
And DON”T DRINK AND DRIVE. And the party is never really
over until Rob announces, “Everyone get the fuck out
of my house.”
Don’t
let these few meager rules fool you, it is after all, still
about just having a good time. I celebrated my 30th birthday
with Rob and the neighbors called the cops when it sounded
like “People were killing each other at the corner of
South Sixth and West Mary.” I shamefully had to admit
to the officers that I was merely celebrating my birthday
by wrestling with a friend and that those loud noises were
only the sounds of Mike G. being “Pile Driven”
into a couch and an occasional body slam to the floor. Since
nobody appeared hurt they let it go at that, after I removed
the Mexican wrestling mask and produced my ID. The two young
twenty-something cops laughed in my face as they verified
the information, “You’re Thirty?” Come to
think of it, Rob has made it crystal clear that there is to
be NO WRESTLING OR KARATE FIGHTING at this art show, I guess
I ruined it for everybody.
Finally. Yes, you are invited. Come look at some pretty pictures
and have a beer. What kind of beer you ask? The best kind,
FREE BEER!
-Ted Jarrell |
