The Metrosexual Tent Revival

Tonight was the first time I got to go to an opening at Secret Show. Thanks in part to a curious mother.

I won't waste your time talking about art pieces you'll probably never see unless you live down here. For me, it was more than just going to see the art of several students and teachers that I've come to know by name. It was actually an experience that I hope I soon don't forget.

For my mother, the show was a disappointment. Given the area, she was expecting a large open warehouse. What she got was the abandoned upstairs offices of a theatre in the middle of what may or may not be the ghetto.

I don't know what my dad thought about it.

For me, it was an education. I saw where my beginnings would be. I saw what kind of work it took just to be noticed by my peers and teachers. The kind of work I wish I could create if given unlimited funds and no time limit. All of the work from the conceptual to the beautiful were just as I had hoped and more. What was strange is that several people that saw me almost sounded like they didn't expect to see me at the opening. My mother said later that this impression was because I don't get out much. I guess that part of my reputation (or lack there of) precedes me.

The night, however, belongs to one man. At least for me it does. Jason Driskill.

Anyone that has kept up with this blog knows who he is, and a few know a little more than that. Tonight, however, I felt something that made me giddy like a school girl and at the same time sadder than I've ever felt before in my life.

I caught Jason on my way out. He was bringing food in and running around helping. On his way downstairs, I stopped him and told him how I wished I could have been at his opening last week for his Graduation Gallery. He said it was okay because it wasn't all that eventful, but I still wanted to see it. I told him that all the works in the gallery right now are very beautiful. As I said this, I noticed I faltered in my words towards the end. It was as if I was trying to fight myself from saying that he was beautiful, something I've secretly thought for a while. On the way down, I caught him as he was leaving the office of Secret Show. He wasn't wearing his jacket, but a rather tight purple and white shirt with a glitter print of the Playboy Bunny on it. Very stereotypical gay fashion, the kind that I would normally cringe away from. However, when I saw Jason wear it, I smiled. He looked extremely cute to me just then. He noticed several people admiring his key wind chime that was hanging near the door. I positioned myself close to him and commented about how I liked the placement of the piece. It felt homey where it was. Like this was where the piece was to live and has always lived. As I said that, a fan of his walked in and they started up a very casual conversation with each other. I could tell they knew each other really well. When a fan and the person the fan admires gets together, it can be a beautiful thing. And this was. I noticed how my mother wanted to leave. My dad was just in the middle observing me and my element. At least, that's what I read off of him. I knew I had to go.

I told Jason that I had to leave and that I wish to see more of him in the future. We hugged.

We hugged.

I left the gallery feeling lighter than air and happier than I could remember in years. I was smiling. When my dad asked who that was I was talking to, I said Jason's name as if I was a school girl with a teenage pop crush. I felt myself skip as we walked back to the car. I don't remember how it came about, but I almost said that I love Jason to my parents. I caught myself by saying I love his pieces.

I left wanting more. I knew that he was done, and I wouldn't see him again. At least not until his next show, provided I get wind of it. I don't know. The thought alone makes me sad even though I was so happy just being able to talk to him again after so long.

Is this what it feels like to truly have love and lost?