With whiskey and home-brewed beer at the door and a slew of "liability bananas" strewn across the floor, we were waiting for the inevitable to occur. It never did, but that did not prevent a couple of Bus Benchers from having fun at the reception for Bananas: The Exhibition.
After having arrived at Union Station breathlessly from running across most of the intersection of Cesar Chavez and N. Vignes—despite the red lights and LAPD copper presence—and caught Metro line 445 just as it was pulling up for the 30 seconds it would sit before departing, to San Pedro.
It was a show about bananas. I mean seriously. I was looking very hard for dirty messages, nothing. Edith Abeyta silk screen felt "liability bananas" scattered on the floor tripped no one and her and ceramics sculptures and vials of plantains and bananas contained no drugs or condoms.
"They are consumable safe," said Edith of the plaintain vial that I purchased.
Nickolas her comrade in art is quite mad. He uses traditional pen and paper. No gimmick. No pretentions.
Do you know how hard it is to be in LA and have a show about bananas and do hundreds of drawings of bananas without any sexual undertones (and BusTard and I were looking hard, we have extremely dirty minds) or Andy Warhol Velvet Underground references?
The new irony is no irony. The Banana show in its non smart ass, no bullshit take on the subject of the banana was a breath of the fresh air. That’s a clichéd way to describe it, but I’m having a real hard time with this upfront thing. My brain is tired with having to actual think without the smear of smarmiassholeness that permeates so many art shows nowadays.
It was quite refreshing, but nothing dirty to see here kids, though it was a little bit bananas.
-The Bus Bench
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