Art Show

[skullfucku]

Who Jan Valentine, Black Stones, anyone who comes in
Where Hodi's Bar
When 8pm
What Art show, live music, and $2 beers
Warnings Art with questionable/graphic nature
Note Just a post with a sampling of what Jan would have bothered painting. There are more in the show itself that are more grotesque and disturbing. Feel free to react.

Comments

since SOMEONE neglected to actually describe the place

[scarffaceless]

Hodi's wasn't anything special. The place was flimsy looking in fact, plywood thickly covered with black paint making up the majority of the walls. The bar was set near the entrance and livened up with a few silent tv screens on the ceilings, showing sports games. A bald, butch looking woman with many tattoos polished glasses behind the countertop and took the occasional order.

Yet the place was already starting to fill up. Down the long hallway that led to the tiny stage, Jan's paintings were hung grotesque and vivid. They were a gallery of things raw and visceral, no less than if they'd been painted in blood and cum. Clustered around them in little knots, skinny beautiful people sipped obscure drinks and made analysis of them. They compared them to previous movements, looked for hidden messages, applied their filters to the art.

Blasphemy. Hester thought as she walked down the corridor. Utter fu'ing blasphemy. She knew better than most how Jan created. He put down whatever he was feeling immediately at that time. He had no

[hired_pistol]

Shin walked the hall of grotesqueries. His bass was slung over his back, almost as tall as him. He smiled and winked at his client, a thin woman with curly blonde hair, wearing a vest. They had a few minutes to enjoy the artwork before they were scheduled to go on so he decided to enjoy the paintings through a haze of cigarette smoke. There was a raw quality to them, muddy, as if they'd been dragged through alleys before being hung here. Perhaps they had. If Punk existed on canvas, this was it.

[theydothebump]

2D followed his roommate closely, he looked a little shell shocked still, like a frightened mouse. Sure at any moment jinx was going to jump out from behind the bar and pummel him or... something. I mean, surely everything else in his life was going wrong.
But Shin was his anchor, the one true north he had left, and to see him play was always most important. Shin was everything he wanted to be.
The paintings on the walls.. he didn't know if he would call it 'art' but it certainly took some talent and for that, 2d gave Jan a little merit. You didn't have to live something to understand it. On the contrary, he didn't like it becuase in every picture all he would think about what the death that was closely looming in his own life.
2D wanted to say something, but what he was unsure of, so with eyes down cast, he followed Shin like a small lost animal.

[hired_pistol]

"Ne, ne, this is pretty punk, i''int it, Stu?" Shin said, native Japanese accent colliding awkwardly with affected British one. He meant the viscerallity of the paintings, the immediacy of the violence presented in them.
"But some of the people here..." He gestured around with his hand as if to say 'just look at these arty tossers!'. Sure they probably wrote pomo lit about the deconstruction of meaning in Fugazi songs, but none of them had felt it, the raging in the blood, the pumping of the hear that accompanied the music when it did everything right.
Perhaps he could take 2d's mind off his troubles too.