Night of 100 Parties

This is the name for the Andersonville Arts Weekend kickoff on the Friday before. I participated in the AAW last year; this year I'm also showing, only I chose a small three-part work to hang in a local store. Basically, artists are matched up with local shopkeepers, and their stuff is displayed over the weekend. Think a cross between an open studio and a sidewalk sale and a moving party. It's so fun.

My Andersonville Chamber of Commerce connection and the person who coordinates the arts weekend is a young man named Jason who also happens to live about three houses down from me. This year I gave him some horrible digital photos of the pieces; I thought he just needed a reasonable image to show the owner of the store I'd be in.

Turns out the weekend is juried. I had no idea. Crappy photos aside, I was in. My work is in a great little framing/tchotchke store called Painted Light, a bit off the main drag, but a nice spot nevertheless. The owner, Barbara, is very cool. Because of the store's location it's also part of the Ravenswood Art Walk, so I get double exposure.

Tonight I stopped by Painted Light for Barbara's party, hung out with some fun women, then headed to Clark St., the main drag of Andersonville. I saw Jason at one of the studios, we said hi --smooch smooch - and he introduced me to his boyfriend, a cutie pie. I also met Matt and Matt,and wondered whether it was odd, or erotic -- or both -- to date someone with your own first name.

"This is Joy, one of my artists." Jason always introduces me this way, and it always cracks me up.

From there I headed down along Clark, stopping in at all of the little parties going in in all the local stores, many of which are high-end boutiques.

(Side note: Girls, if you are looking for a straight man, you will not find him at Night of 100 Parties in Andersonville. )

I was plied with wine at a cute shop owned by a couple of middle-aged women, and introduced to an item called the Lampe Berger. This thing is genius, and I already have a Christmas present picked for that hard-to-buy-for relative. An man who owns a Lampe Berger talked to me about it and then we ended up talking about Florida and Vero Beach and rich folks and rednecks and skunks and possums.

Across the street at a high-end furniture store I bumped into Jason's boyfriend and one of the Matts.

"I want that coffee table," he said, pointing to a large, heavy rustic-looking thing.

"It's lovely," I agreed.

"It's a thousand dollars."

We looked at it for a bit in silence.

"You know," I said, "I have a theory that says that if it's here, it can be somewhere else, too, and for less."

"Yeah. I cannot spend a thousand dollars on a coffee table."

"I would support the sanity of that logic."

I was busy lusting after the long, low-backed, 60s-style sofa in bright orange, for a mere $1,499.00.

"It's very I Dream of Jeannie," I said, sprawling on it. "And right...here...is where my cat would pee on it about five minutes after it was delivered."

And you know what? If he did, I'd still make plans with friends.