Swirl your brandy.

Go 3 blocks west of my school and you are in the near-heart of the gallery district, aka CHELSEA. It is a fabulous conglomeration of interesting art, experimental art, old-hat art, crappy art, REALLY crappy art, over-the-top art, student art, and, on the rare occasion, great art. Even better than the galleries themselves: gallery openings. Oh my gosh, going to openings is seriously one of the best things about being there. They are like little satellite parties where, if it is good, you can stay...and if it is bad, you can grab your free drink and saltines and hit the road.

Tonight there were TONS of them, and we just hopped from opening to opening. One of the first galleries was chock full of hipsters in their 20's and 30's. The photos were beautiful, and as a way of encouraging us to linger they generously provided free Stella Artois for everyone present. A beautiful thing. The other galleries were pretty sweet, too. Of course, a lot of the art is bad...real bad...but with proper editing and a sense of adventure, you can sift through the bad and the ugly in order to find the good, the interesting, and the fantastic. We saw maybe 3 good shows in the 20 that we flew through--a success!

My personal favorite involved a Museum of Natural History-esque setup with 'creatures' made out of discarded machinery. Even better than the art, though, was the crowd--I had felt a TAD out of place in the hipster joint, considering my bootleg jeans (SO last season) and dirty fingernails (they just don't stay clean anymore)--but in THIS place, I felt like a freaking student specimen. The aristocrats were in full bloom with their brandy-sipping, cigar-puffing demeanor. Push broom mustaches, fur lined sweaters, international languages (French,Italian and German being the most in fashion) and coiffed updos were the trend. I might be out of my element with the cool trendies, but I certainly would rather be drinking a beer alongside a spandex clad semi-goth than contemplating the art market in the presence of the big-city bourgeoisie. To use a term from Dave Hickey, the place sure stunk of the "Big, Beautiful Art Market." I could just imagine transactions taking place behind the gallery curtain in a room full of plush, red velvet and gold leaf cigar trays. I doubt most of those people were there for the enjoyment of looking at the art. The only benefit that I really saw in schmoozing with that crowd was the possibility of landing a Sugar Daddy.