Last Call for COCKED!

Since we've got less than half an hour left in this COCKED! show I figured it's o.k. to start on this much delayed but anticipated blog entry.

What can I say? COCKED! was not your typical show and I realized early on (probably the day after our slammed opening) that it deserved the space and time for deeper observation and reflection. So I decided that it would be best to sit back and take it all in before attempting to address it. ...Hmmm, where do I start?

The opening itself seems like a blur now. We got a taste of what was to come when people started showing up before our 'official' opening time of 7pm. Seth Augustine was still busy setting up for his performance out front and I was inside trying desperately to get the price sheet and other materials finished and printed out. Finally, at around 7:15 and with the crowd growing, we kicked the door open and let them in. From there on it was total mayhem. I just want to laugh. It's actually hard to describe this night. There was so much happening at the same time: the waves of people coming and going; the three black-outs inside the gallery over the two hour period of Seth's performance (caused by the commercial halogen spotlights that he used on himself)--no one seemed to mind and it just added to the carnival atmosphere; the crazy-ass writer who kept interrupting everyone (even during performances!) for the piece he wrote on the show; Scott Horsley breaking down and drinking wine (inconceivable!); and all of the other stranger-than-fiction goings on. I should have known this wouldn't be a normal opening--not with 21 artists in the show. At midnight we still had a small group hanging out in front and it was 1am before I finally locked the front door and went home.

It took me about two weeks to get over the opening. Not just the hangover but the total shell-schock exhaustion that followed. I seriously don't think that I could have written anything, even if I'd wanted to. But little by little a semblance of order was restored.