Art Walk, Old Skool.

Art!

You kids are probably too young to remember, but once upon a time images were captured not with electrons and silicon, but with "film", a gooey mixture of chemicals slathered on a strip of (probably flammable) plastic or paper or whatever happened to be at hand. And there was none of this "instant gratification" you youngsters talk about. With film, you didn't get to see your photos until you took the film home and soaked it in poisonous chemicals in your bathtub. Yuck. "How could this be possible" you ask? Well, luckily for you, I discovered a working example of one of these ancient devices during an archaeological dig in the ruins of a garage in Burbank, California, and I brought it with me to Art Walk. What follows was recorded using that quaint and now-so-obsolete technology.


To say that Art Walk was "crowded" is an understatement. Wall to wall people made it hard to walk on the sidewalk (but there were plenty of cops to keep you from stepping on to the street.)

There was art, as you would expect. But it seems the more popular Art Walk gets, and the more people there are, the less art I see. This isn't a cut an Art Walk, mind you. This is me people watching rather than art gazing. As I live in the 'hood, Art Walk has become an adventure in finding art I would like to return to and enjoy later while enjoying the party in the right-now.

Art, meet commerce.

I have no idea what was going on here.

The newly-expanded Art Parking Lot, featuring extra fuse-popping lights.

Bars and bands were hoppin'.

A new bar "Down and Out" at the site of the old "Charlie O's" soft-opened for Art Walk. The place has sliding glass doors that give the effect of the party spilling out into the street. Note the portraits inside above the bar. Not seen in this shot: O.J. Simpson.

But mostly just people, people, people...

These old-fashioned cameras don't focus themselves, they rely on you to do it for them. You get to twist a knob whilst peering through the viewfinder until you stop seeing double, which is impossible to do when it is dark, and you are drunk.

Commies!

You kids with your new-fangled electric cameras... (The police car is responding to a "415", which seems to be the police code for "a guy holding a bag of ice to his face.")

On the way back to the loft, I was hit by frozen tater-tots thrown from one of these windows. The bastards ducked back inside when I turned and pointed the camera at them... There is nothing subtle about these antiques. Getting a candid shot takes skillz with a "Z".