Monday we took a look at some of the wheat-pasted street art around town. The fantastic thing about the scene is how much change it goes through, day-to-day and week-to-week. Before, I just thought that I was ignorant to the fact that all of this was around. Today, I can assess that the street artists have been pretty active as of late.
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In trying to decide how to break this all up and put it together, there was a bit of debate. Would the best way to account for Houston’s scene be to classify it by medium, neighborhood or just give a play-by-play of each hunt? There’s no right answer, but a decision had to be made. The photos will take some of the steam away from the words below, but I’ll fill in the gaps with the names, places and other information that I’ve come across in my month-long adventure.
It’s hard to know exactly what you’re looking for. Guaranteed, you’re missing a lot along the way as you search for whatever it happens to be. I can personally attest to this because until Sunday I hadn’t really opened my eyes on my A-to-B journeys. An entire culture of Houston art was ignored because it wasn’t in a press release from a gallery in my email. After a video went viral last week showing a graffiti marriage proposal it was obvious that I was going to have to start paying attention.
I am ashamed to admit that I have spent the last year coasting down Main Street, noting the building that is the Houston Center for Contemporary Craft and having formed a closed minded opinion about what a craft center would possibly put on display, never went inside until last week. All this changed when I learned of The Paper Runway exhibit and I found myself counting down the days until it opened. Peers and friends of Barnett Newman, one of the major figures in abstract expressionism, used to joke that he would attend the “opening of an envelope” much the same way my friends joke that I jump at the opportunity to attend anything resembling a fashion show.
“I want to fly into your pictures,” I confessed to Libbie Masterson upon approaching her this past Wednesday at Wade Wilson Art, the official home for her photography exhibit, SKY: A Study of the American Sky. She surprised me by saying thank you instead of asking me to leave for fear of me harming the breathtaking images trapped helplessly behind plexiglass.
As our 200th article rolls hot off the wire and silicon, we open up old wounds, smile fondly and shed a tear or two with the Nostalgic 100 of Houston. Did we miss something? Let us know in the comments.
I am hosting a dinner party in less than an hour and a half and, as usual, I am running late. Wearing a cocktail dress, flats and no makeup, I speed over to the Glassell School to see how much culture I can possibly soak up in 45 minutes. Hopefully, it’s enough for an article. I throw on a coat I have laying around in my car so I don’t look over the top, park in the very back of the lot since its absolutely packed, and make my way inside.
I learned of the existence of the Orange Show about six months ago from a fellow volunteer at an art festival. She was shocked to learn that anyone who claimed to be involved in the art scene had never seen such an important cultural icon in Houston. I attempted to visit for months, but with visiting hours comprised of noon to five on Saturdays and Sundays only, it left small opportunity for someone who enjoys long brunches/writing sessions at Café Brasil during said days.
In 5 Words: Secret, Amorous, HappyHappy, Escape, Graceful
Imagine having your own secret garden you could escape to whenever the day in the big city was too fast-paced or exciting for you. I found mine last week, by accident, when I was exploring the grounds beyond the building that is the Glassell School. I wandered out through the back doors of the School and was greeted by Joan Miro’s bronze Oiseau. The statue, standing taller than me, looked more like a character out of Alice in Wonderland and less like any feathered creature I had seen before.
In 5 Words: Groovy, Endowed, Afrobeat, Retrospective, Fela
I stop by my favorite couple’s house for a cocktail to start the evening and to convince the boyfriend that he should, in fact, join us. The company will be nice, but more importantly, it’s always nice to have a man around to double as a body guard or a drink getter. After the introductory drink, we race over to CAMH a little after 8 and find, to our surprise, that the bar has been placed outside the front doors. The cold night air hasn’t deterred the art goers from lining up to partake in the cheap spirits, wine and beer being hocked for a few dollars apiece. Noting the Smirnoff label on the sole bottle of vodka, I decide cheap wine will hurt far less than cheap vodka.
