Magic Shadows

This is not Impressionism, but it is, sort of: "Shadows Contemplating Rear Acreage."

It must be Art Week at The Great Plotnik World Headquarters and Culture Center. First it was Modern Art at MOMA, then more Modern Art at LACMA in Stiletto City, and last night the astonishing Impressionists from the D'Orsay exhibit at The De Young.

No pictures allowed, so you have to imagine the Monet with the flags, and Whistler's mother, and Renoir's Algerian ravine, and Degas's bankers and dancers and so many more. All these men (and a very few women) were part of a group of painters who bucked the establishment and then became one, at the same time that a similar upheaval was happening not only in real life (Paris was invaded and burned by the Prussians as impressionism was taking off), but also in the worlds of music, dance and literature.

The painters hung out at the Cafe Guerbois, along with their writer friends. It's kind of like TIAPOS with croissants. The Great WantzaNewName's coffee is probably every bit as good as what they were drinking at the Guerbois, and we are still debating commas and picture framing and whether that first part should be the last part or the last part should be the first part. Some absinthe wouldn't hurt.

Plotnik has always been a fool for impressionism and he knows why. It's sensual and it's mysterious. How does a painter, who is working three inches away from his canvas, paint a scene that is not visible from where he is working? Only when he stands six feet away can that scene be understood.

He dabs paint with a certain brush stroke and it becomes sunlight. He does a series of straight lines and they become trees. Or, if he wants, they become not trees. Or not light.

From up close it's dabs and strokes. From further away it's skies and smiles and trains and melancholy and happiness. How in the world can anyone do that?

It must be said that Plot is the audio in audio-visual. For him, sound is easy, it's just texture and beats, and it's easy to understand. But the visual part -- it's like figuring out how these keystrokes are going to be sent to his faithful Plotnikkies within a very few minutes from now? It must be magic.



After the show, Plot, Duck and Mr. and Mrs. Great Fate-Nik went off to the best Japanese food in the city, the little place Plottie's Japanese teachers all told him about. They thought it was the best in the city then and it still is: Oyaji at Clement and 32nd Avenue. And they have Sapporo on draft.