It’s hard to judge a show based on its opening. Openings are often only tangentially related to the art on display; they’re more about the experience of experiencing art. I know a lot of people find contemporary art intimidating and Listening to Snow is exactly the type of show they are thinking about when they say that. I can see how self-referential sound-art would be a tough sell for many but I enjoyed the show and think it was an interesting experience even if I’m not sure if I completely “get it”.
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| (Photograph courtesy of Mary Wallace) |
And so, I’ve decided to create this part-review-part-how-to-guide to work through some of my art opening related anxiety and hopefully some of yours too.
Part One: Dressing for the occasion
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| View from my window the afternoon of the opening. (Photograph courtesy of Mary Wallace) |
Dressing for an opening is always a challenge; the level of formally is often left up to the imagination of the attendees and will vary greatly between them. On the evening of this particular opening, Toronto was hit with a thematically appropriate blizzard. A universal truth of wintertime openings is that no one will be wearing the shoes they wanted to wear and that evening at the Art Museum almost everyone was in winter boots. It was a strangely communal feeling, all of us standing in puddles of snow melting onto the floor.
Ultimately, it does not matter what you wear to the opening because there will always be someone wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and someone else wearing a designer gown, thus everyone else will fall somewhere in the middle.
Part Two: Refreshments
Most openings will have some kind of charcuterie board or cheese plate hanging around and all openings will have $5 cups of wine (always cash only). The Art Museum, to its credit had quite the spread prepared. I felt no shame in refilling my tiny plate (where do they even get such tiny plates?) several times with free food. I used to be shy about doing this but after volunteering at these types of events, it is shocking how much is left over at the end of the evening.
My advice to you, always bring cash to an opening and don’t be shy about snacking.
Part Three: Watching yourself look at the art
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| Michael Snow, Waiting Room, 2000. (Photograph courtesy of Mary Wallace) |
One of the strangest things about art openings is that they usually get in the way of actually seeing the art on display. It’s crowded, lots of people are talking at once, you are stuck holding an empty plastic wine cup with a napkin crumpled up inside it, etc. Looking at the art ends up feeling performative, as though everyone is watching your reaction (they are not). The good thing about Michael Snow’s work in this show is that it often undermines this feeling. When you enter the main room of the show, a sign invites you to take a number from a receipt printer and wait on an adjacent couch for your number to come up on a digital display. This faux waiting room, appropriately titled Waiting Room (2000), only involves a few seconds of actual waiting but having some kind of instructions for interacting with the art and with my fellow gallery goers was a great way to break out of the initial awkwardness.
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| I missed my number coming up on the screen but you get the idea. (Photograph courtesy of Mary Wallace) |
Part Four: Networking
Lots of people use openings as networking opportunities but I have always found it hard to achieve this. People don’t generally wear name tags at openings so there’s no way to know who is the gallery director and who is a friend-of-a-friend that has been dragged here. The only strategy that has worked for me is striking up conversations at random until you find someone who can introduce you to the artist/director/board member. In the case of Listening to Snow I did not even attempt to network and it was a welcome break.
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| Safety first. (Photograph courtesy of Mary Wallace) |
One of the standout pieces for me was Diagonale (1988). In this piece, several speakers have been placed in a darkened room, each is playing a humming sound that descends in tone as you walk deeper into the darkness. The initial effect is somewhat eerie; the darkness and the dissonant harmonies make the room feel like a minimalist haunted house. However, once I had a moment to let my eyes adjust, I felt strangely relaxed. There was no one to watch my reaction nor could I see anyone else’s and no sane person would attempt to network in this room, I could just stand and let the piece happen around me. It made me wish every opening had some form of sensory deprivation room from which to escape the usual cocktail party chatter.
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| Michel Snow, Diagonale, 1988. (Photograph courtesy of Mary Wallace) |
In conclusion, art openings, much like art galleries, can be what ever you want them to be, there’s no right or wrong way to engage with them. I encourage all of you who feel like you’re not an “art person” to try checking one out at least once. Trust me, coming from an “art person” everyone there is just as confused as you are.
Listening to Snow will be at Art Museum until March 21, 2020. Also on that day at 4 pm you can see a solo piano performance by Michael Snow himself (registration is required).
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