New Orleans’ gallery season kicked off last Saturday night, with ateliers across the city slingin’ cheap hooch for the hipsters, homos, and suburban hordes. And the hands-down hoppin’-est place in town was Arthur Roger Gallery, which featured the work of flashy, trashy, cinéaste, John Waters.
You probably know Waters as the director of low-rent masterpieces like Polyester and Desperate Living, or perhaps as the author of some witty social commentary, but in a triple-threat move worthy of Rita Moreno herself, Waters is also a conceptual artist. In fact, when he’s not making films, you’ll often find Waters at home, taking pictures of films as they play on his television.
As you might expect–I mean, this is the guy who convinced Divine that eating fresh dog shit on film was a fabulous idea–Waters ain’t afraid to get his sass on, and many of his photographs are like big teabags in the face of middle-class values. Highlights from Saturday’s exhibition included “Eat Me” (above), “9/11” (a shot of title scenes from films scheduled to play on the planes that crashed into the Twin Towers), and a “sculpture” that was essentially an oversized hand towel embroidered with a message that was once a rallying cry for AIDS activists. Say what you will about the slow, steady decline of his movies, but J-Wizzle still got game where galleries are concerned.
P.S. I’d have snatched a photo of me standing beside the man, but I couldn’t get near his pants. Honest to goddess, they glowed like the tractor beam in Galaga–and not in the good way.
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