A Touching Story

Visiting a museum with other artists makes for a great experience. I went to the LACMA last night for the opening of Franz West’s exhibit. Wednesdays at the LACMA are closed to the general public; this evening was special invite only. Outside the museum, guests were served paprika chicken skewers and fresh melon and pineapple squares and vegetables with a garlic hummus. Despite not being able to bring champagne from the cash-bar inside the museum, the atmosphere was quite bubbly. Most in attendance were artists themselves, chatting and commenting freely with the other guests. The other great part about it was that it was free.

After eight months in LA, it’s only the third time I’ve been to a museum. It’s not that I don’t want to go, I’m just complacent. When you’re traveling, it’s now or never. Sometimes that can lead to mischief.

I went to lots of museums in England because they were often free, and prices there would drive even Bill Gates to say “I’ll just have a water, thanks.”

“When are we ever coming back?” my friend teases me inside the Tate museum in London.

While in the Tate, we played a game of ‘I dare you to touch it’ which has very simple rules, and ends with both of you touching a painting and running. Not the most sophisticated, respectful game, admittedly, but I was young, and likely drunk.

Last night, however, the exhibit featured pieces intended to be touched. Franz West works with paper maché and a sense of fun. One installation had you pick up one of four pieces, white, golf-club length works attached to rebar; I imagined a giant Q-Tip, a roasted marshmallow, a skewered ham, and the ringed planet Saturn, if it were fused with an albino cheese doodle.

Exhibit-goers were encouraged to take these comical pieces and enter a make-shift chamber that snakes behind newspaper-lined walls and features a door-sized mirror. The wallpaper was a mix of La Opinion and LA Times and others from Los Angeles last weekend, giving a freshness to the experience. Knowing no one was watching, I mugged in front of the mirror with this cave-man’s club of dried paper, pretending to knock out home runs and clean my ears and joust Tower (I don’t know the new Hogan-ized version’s characters) off his perch in American Gladiators, and started to laugh.

Though it doesn’t mean as much in perennially warm LA, Spring is coming. It’s time to go outside and touch something and have a laugh.