Sub-Mission

Not at all what I expected.

A shitty band was playing when we first got there. It was almost intolerable to listen to, but as soon as they finished and the woman in charge of making the show cohesive got on stage, I knew I'd landed in the right place.

The next act was a burlesque dancer. She tromped on stage with severe swagger and started to strip. She must have been at least a hundred pounds overweight, but her fluid movements knew no restrictions. She was fearless.

The crowd, almost as interesting as the acts, seemed to have wandered in from some nearby gypsy settlement. All in various states of undress, with holey clothes, dreadlocks, and a kind of confident lack of inhibition that was extremely entertaining to watch.

The next burlesque act was a slimmer woman with clown make up who did an act with shaving cream. She swirled the white foam into pie tins and, at strategic intervals and intentional clumsiness, she smashed the pie tins over her breasts and shimmied off stage.

I decided to walk around because the venue was deceptively large, and the street performer who had told me about the show had said that there would be live art, a hookah bar, and some amateur one-man-acts.

I found the live art first. A man was spray painting a huge portrait of Dolores Huerta in an outside enclosure. I looked around and asked if this was a one-man act or if others could join the art, and apparently it was exclusive. The painting was impressive. I was told that the man with the can was a local street artist and that the people who planned the event has specifically asked him to join them. When I approached him and asked which ones were his, he gave me an apprehensive look and I immediately realized that street artists don't just give our their tag names. I apologized and told him how great I thought his work was and walked awkwardly away.

I wandered toward the back room and found the most ridiculous juxtaposition or a klezmer band and a hookah lounge. There was a woman belly dancing in front of them (apparently not one of them, but moved by the funky Eastern-European beat.)

When I wandered back up front, there were two clown-like performers on unicycles slinging one another around. A friend of mine pointed out a guy that had just come into the place who's name is Lynn Gentry. Anyone who has been to the ferry building has probably seen him. He writes
poetry on command. I believe he always has a typewriter and just writes out whatever inspires him at the moment.

He told me that he's been planning on expanding his venture to a kind of poetry cart and somehow incorporate his guitar. I want to make a book out of his life story.

I feel like the gallery opening was almost a side note to my evening. It was wonderful and engaging, but as you can see from my descriptions of The Lusty Trusty Ball, it just wasn't weird enough to take the spotlight. I'll post pictures anyway.

Alas my photos are too big. I'll have to leave you hanging and figure this out. To be continued..