SWARM last night. Not Swarm, or S.W.A.R.M., but SWARM. The eleventh annual.
What could SWARM stand for, besides an evening of openings organized by the Pacific Association of Artist-Run Centres (PAARC)? Based on last night, particularly the after party at VIVO, I have a few ideas.
Seems We Are Rowdy Motherfuckers.
I started the evening at the CAG. Alex Morrison’s sign caught my eye. Then the onslaught of party-goers. So I hopped in my car and drove to the Belkin, for their annual grad show, the usual confusion over materials and methods, humanism versus aesthetics.
From there, more carbon as I made my way to the grunt gallery. An ambitious projection, or a software program that ran on time. Then the Western Front, for some social/formal sculpture. And then VIVO, where I spent seven dollars on a corporate hotdog and stared at Paul Wong’s rubber glove oil slick.
VIVO advertised their evening as SO WARM, yet the party left me cold, chilled by the aggressive enthusiasm of those I see every year at SWARM but never at another artist-run centre event.