Editorial note: This Curator Diary is an editorial feature documenting curator and local Bushwick hero Jason Andrew’s trip to Asheville, North Carolina to mount an ambitious exhibition of work by Jack Tworkov. The column will explore the day-to-day process of curating. Andrew is curating Jack Tworkov: The Accident of Choice, which opens tomorrow, June 17, at the Black Mountain College Museum & Arts Center (56 Broadway, Asheville, North Carolina) and runs until September 17, 2011.
After all the curating is done, there’s usually a party to look forward to — the exhibition opening. In this last Curator Diary, Jason Andrew attends his own opening party at Black Mountain College, chats up visitors, meets painter Donald Sultan’s mom and hits the town afterward.
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Day 5: Friday, June 17
Morning comes too soon here in Asheville. I’m up with the sun that filters through the skylight above my bed.
At the Museum at 10. I’m feeling more and more removed from the show as the list of items on my to do list continue to disappear. I work on my lecture and fuss with last minute details. One should never re-read ones printed labels, cause there is always a better or different way to say the same thing. Yet one feels responsible.
No I didn’t try to rearrange the vitrines in a diamond formation… but we did move the did move the benches (the original wooden benches that were in use in the Quiet House on the old Black Mountain property).
Jolene whisks in with my dry cleaning cause who can go to a museum opening without pressed pants and a crisp white shirt? We laugh about the seen that the restaurant last night with Jinx pulling a fish bone out of his throat with a pair of metal grips.
Meet up with Ursula Gullow, a painter and writer for Mountain Xpress. We walk through the show. A great dry run for my gallery talk later. Excited cause I remembered everything I wanted to say! See her blog post on the show here.
Lunch with Alice. We are both exhausted and excited to get the show off our hands.
Home. Prep a bit more on the lecture for tomorrow.
Nap. Wake up thinking that Fern Dog is laying on my leg … I’m sad to realize that it’s just one of the big heavy pillows (Sante Fe Red).
Prep my face. Forget the museum show, God this body needs a lot of work to get ready to go out. I need like a team of people to get me ready.
Arrive at the Museum. Julia and Quentin had send on the most beautiful flora arrangement of thistles I have ever seen. People arrive at the Museum. Nice that I didn’t have to sport $3 for wine. Talk and talk and talk. Jack Tworkov this, Jack Tworkov that. And yes, I’m proud.
I meet Donald Sultan’s mom. Interestingly enough, DS was born in Asheville in 1951 … hmmm. Mom Sultan and I hang. Neither of us can stop talking about Woody Allen’s new film, Midnight in Paris. Meet many of the members of the Board of Black Mountain College. Excited to see Brian Butler who I hadn’t seen since I presented a paper at the last BMC conference in 2010. Can’t wait to finish up my paper on John Cage and the Abstract Expressionists for the next BMC conference this October.
Wishing all my Bushwick family could be here. Then again, they’d probably knock something over or get a ticket for drinking on the street.
I invite a ton of people for dinner after. I think it overwhelmed Alice. I drag Jinx and Michelle along. We toast, we drink, we mingle. I ate steak.
Dinner done. Say my goodbyes to Mom Sultan et al. Slow walk home. Tired and empty. Completely empty. Hollow too. Jinx and Michelle to meet me for ice cream. I’m craving McDonalds. I heard that there is one down the road in Biltmore and there is a grand piano in the lobby.
Kick off shoes call and text as many people as I can. I’m in free fall. Jinx texts: U SCREAM (for ice cream).
We roam Asheville. It’s like a teenage dream with everyone out on the streets. The energy is refreshing and recharging. Arcade was crazy. We wander to Bo Bo Gallery, a cool joint, low key. I order a shake. They also have a cool dance floor (can’t wait) with some easy house music. I stay till 1.
The Ghosts are out. I turn on all the lights.
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