Upon moving back from New York a friend of mine said she always felt safer there despite all of our midwestern nightmares of what happened in Brooklyn. She said there were always people around anyplace you went. For someone to commit a crime against you, it would take hundreds of people passively ignoring the act. This is the paradox of Milwaukee- rarely any crazy people to assault you but if they do there's no one around to hear you shout for help. That was what always scared her when she came back-the quiet of a streetlamp sidewalk at 11pm.
The suburbs have certainly taken their toll on Milwaukee's population density, possibly making us feel less safe walking around our city. White flight to former farmland is still a reality and if we have to bribe people with booze to bring their money back to the urban motherland that's ok. If you advertise art viewing and wine drinking on a non-work night when other people will be on the sidewalks it seems like a cultured, fun, and safe thing to do. Residents of Glendale, Wauwatosa, Mequon and the like will rent babysitters to come out on the social contract of other well dressed people populating the sidewalks.
Gallery night has become the darling of Milwaukee's art scene as it happens four times a year. Its epicenter is the Third Ward's retailers, bars and restaurants that feature artwork by mostly Milwaukee area creators. Art isn't sold after business hours on Friday night, and rarely in Milwaukee anyway. Generally an art dealer obtains a piece with a buyer in mind from the start, someone with money to spend whose taste they already know. But on Gallery Night artists can get exposure and sometimes a sale by joining in and explaining to the Northshore Nancys the nuances of their art school background.
After trying to combine martinis and art viewing, the Milwaukee Art Museum learned their lesson. Friday the 16th of January, the MAM offered a variation on this theme with a craft beer tasting event. Following my Midwestern values my nose followed the cheap. This meant I spent half an hour in line to get a free dixie shot cup of beer to drink while waiting in line to try the next beer. Upon seeing everyone waiting I spent the four dollars on an Ambergeddon that required only two minutes in another line. At around nine o'clock the two black guys in the room, DJs from 88.9, began culling the sea of white people to gather in a circle in the hull area of the museum front entrance. Every young Homer Simpson ambled over with only one useful arm, as the other held a beer. A group of young Latin guys began stretching near the DJ booth while their mothers and girlfriends readied cameras. Freshly shaven guys in khakis and tucked in shirts wondered, “Gee Billy, just what will these Mexican B-boyers be breaking? Should I be wearing protective goggles?” The building's all white! If nothing else other than for sake of composition, more non-white people need to be drawn to the art museum! I think there may have been dozens of young Latin folks who would have loved to dance at the art museum but were busy working in the kitchens of all those Third Ward restaurants.
The highlight of the night for me was watching an airbag explode. As much as I love a car crash, this airbag was one of six mounted on a wall as a part of Mark Klassen's work featured at UWM's Kenilworth building. I had to sign four release statements agreeing to not sue UWM or Klassen, and was required to wear earplugs. Airbags are a lot louder in a concrete building than in your car. Mark had inscribed the dates and times of each airbag explosion above them as a reminder that your chance for this experience is fleeting. Klassen said he liked the anxiety and anticipation of knowing something startling was going to happen. The little part of me who's spent a decade crashing cars and motorcycles wanted to feel like I had more street-cred, but after further reflection I decided that was just stupid. Mr. Klassen wanted to bring a little bit of danger to his work, something that art should have, something that should be inherent in the definition of Art. Not just purple stained Pinot teeth four Fridays a year.
Gallery night is safe and that's why it has always frustrated me. After going a few times I understood the flow of see a few paintings, but more importantly have a few drinks. On gallery night I rarely feel that something dangerous or new or unique will take place. I go home at night still waiting for something. Maybe that's why everyone drinks so much, hoping something will finally happen.