Once upon a time, the ROM and the AGO were scratching their heads, wondering how to attract a younger demographic. Then it hit them – they would speak to the young’uns in a language they spoke fluently: booze!
And so ROM Fridays and AGO Thursdays were born.
ROM Fridays can be a great time. I mean, who wouldn’t want to drink among dinosaur bones? It’s a fun, cool idea made terrible by all the waiting. Wait to get in, wait for coat check, wait to buy drink tickets, wait to get your drink.
So Romi and I decided to try the less popular AGO Thursdays.
The art and drinks work perfectly in tandem; the art makes you feel cultured, while the booze makes sure you don’t get too classy.
It may have played a part in taking us from these dignified art-perusers…
To whatever this is:
Man, even the camera got drunk.
We also opted to buy tickets to the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibit.
I have no photos from this exhibit to show you.
Cameras were strictly forbidden, which at first made me sad, but then happy. Not taking photos forced you to remain completely in the moment, wrapped up in the story and meaning of every piece of art.
Being up close to the colourful, exaggerated pieces felt especially haunting, knowing that Basquiat died of a drug overdose at just 27. I will happily say that some of the art was beautiful, some was flat out strange, and some I just did not get. This is what makes art so great. There is no one answer or one viewpoint.
For example, Romi and I had very different interpretations of this piece:
Romi’s thoughts: the subject is clearly mourning the death of a loved one, while holding their skull (hey, we all grieve differently).
My thoughts: the subject has murdered this dude in cold blood, and is crazy stressed, wondering wtf to do with the body, fuckkkkkk.
I mean really, art galleries have something for everyone!
You’ve got your naked ladies:
Your creepy old guy unapologetically devouring a baby, foot first:
And this dude who is, without a doubt, about to break it down like no other statuette ever has.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get the chance to bust out any of our own moves. The price to pay for less lineups is a bare dance floor. So don’t go for the dancing, but do go to discover your inner drunk artist.