That Feathery Feeling: “Birds of a Feather”

That Feathery Feeling: 

“Birds of a Feather”


My laundromat’s adjacent, so I learned of the “pay to display” exhibit from one of a rotating cadre of eccentric hippie mamas, a la Dragnet 1969. This mostly 5th-grade Summer Camp brings the community together and subsidizes legitimate shows.

I stumbled onto the opening, as proprietor “Dragonboy” was reciting surrealist gibberish about mango butter (in fishnet leotards and a halter top). Kids drew with salami-sized day-glo chalk. My hair and khaki Jack Hanna safari shirt were wet with 90-degree sweat, but I couldn’t bail, as I had to chat up friends who were ignoring me.

The good stuff was not for sale: A woolen Baboon head, a Wolsian abstract watercolor (“Songbird #3”), penciled caveman wiener-dogs on an ochre gauche gourd, a rusted spine with a head of mussels and hips of a Conquistador helmet.

The more sophomoric fare commanded up to three C-notes. Toddler-esque flying pigs, Dadaesque glued paintbrushes and feathers, a vague red “Gumby” straddling a tank wheel, chicken-wire natty felt-ribbon cat face, plastic wedding cake figures atop coasters on sawed branches, a toupee face with a colander chin and fabric lady lips, boxes of faceless heads, camouflage shirt on matching stool with bullets and feathers, a driftwood face, faceless cats and stomachless coyotes, keyboards melting over rocks, and the aptly named “Audacity”: a folk acrylic crow-headed nude, with centered figure, steeple and moon, framed by murky clouds.