The Small Wonders Detroit show of 2019 was the first curated, gallery exhibit where I showed my work. The opening was a great night that I shared with friends and loved ones, and my piece sold even before I arrived at the gallery. But the MOST remarkable part of the evening had absolutely NOTHING to do with me or my art, and it’s an experience I treasure to this day.
The Small Wonders call for submissions asked artists to produce a work that fit within rather modest dimensions (4” x 5” as I recall) AND to create a shipping box for it. I took as much delight crafting this box as I did in framing my piece! When drop-off day arrived, these dimensions were carefully enforced. The check-in clerk wielded a ruler and I quipped “Is it to rap the knuckles of artists who didn’t read the guidelines?”
“You wouldn’t believe what folks have tried.”
In truth, I WOULD believe it because I’ve edited several anthologies and easily half the submissions wildly ignored our guidelines. Suffice to say, Readers are Leaders… or at least have a better chance of getting work accepted.
I find the Small Wonders concept delightful on several levels. As an artist, it’s a productive challenge to create works within fixed limitations. As a viewer, this change of scale presents an invitation to look closer at things easily overlooked. Furthermore, smaller scale pieces often are reasonably priced, and I am a fan of anything that gets more original art on more folks’ walls.
The opening night festivities featured tiny works on the walls, extremely short movies playing in a small auditorium…
…And a live performer. A karaoke singer.
He was not a very good karaoke singer, from what I could tell. A passably good voice but he was so socially awkward I found him painful to watch for more than a few seconds. Spectators were even laughing at him! I spent most of his first set hiding in a different room to avoid vicarious embarrassment. While I hid, I had several conversations with other artists — which is one of my favorite parts of any gallery show. During one chat, the topic came up of Satori Circus, a remarkable Detroit-based performer. (Seriously, check him out: http://satoricircus.com/) Satori Circus performs clever and wise, physically rich, mime-based pieces, wearing a distinctive style of face paint.
The other artist said, “You know that’s him, right? Performing in the other room.”
I squinted, uncomprehending. “I thought it was Konrad Lee.”
“Yeah, that’s his alter-ego.”
My mind was quietly blown. The next set, I sat in the front row center and was delighted by Konrad Lee’s brilliant recital of social awkwardness and nervous behavior. He performed a wild and weird variety of songs, each with a collection of carefully acted tics and forced musical groove. It was hilarious and poignant and quite masterfully done.
And I almost missed it entirely! I brought enough of my own social anxiety to the performance to effectively block my ability to take in what was really happening. The chance comment gave me a new pair of glasses, in effect, and helped me see the show. This effect could be alienating, like an “in-joke” only funny to those “in the know,” but that’s not what happened here. I suspect if I’d actually taken the time to watch the act, using enough courage to be emotionally and aesthetically vulnerable, I would have picked up on Konrad Lee’s act. I still take delight at how I experienced two different performers that night, all due to the furniture inside my head.
When have you allowed yourself to be vulnerable while experiencing new work? Did someone need to coach you to try? Did it pay off? What did you learn about yourself AND the work?
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