On the first Friday of every month, the galleries located between Front and Third Streets and Market and Vine Streets open their doors to the public for nighttime showings and free hors d’oeuvres. The event has been a Philly tradition since 1991. It’s an excuse for art lovers to socialize and an opportunity for others to be introduced to the art world. Sometimes free wine and beer are also available.
This time of the month, street vendors pack into every alleyway and corner of Olde City. They set up shop on blankets and folding tables, selling everything from jewelry trinkets and etches of cats to paintings of skulls and leather floral purses. For anyone who wants to take art home, these pieces tend to have more student-friendly prices. Prints sell for around ten or twenty dollars. Leather pieces and jewelry can be a bit pricier.
The sounds of different musical instruments fill the air. Street performers appear on every block, playing jazz on bass guitar or pounding beats on drums. Just off of Market Street, a musician sporting a camouflage bandana teaches a young boy how to play the saxophone.
“Relax your teeth,” the man advices. The boy obliges.
“See, I can already hear a difference!” the man with the sax says with a smile. He’s obviously a pro.
If you like music, make sure to check out the Vivant Art Collection. Many of the paintings are vibrant depictions of city scenes and musical instruments. You can almost hear the smooth tones from Ken Laughlin’s “Jazz Beats.” If you want something a bit heavier, you’ll like his “De Blues,” a painting in autumnal colors.
It is music in art, and there is art everywhere. Even the bathroom has a selection of Haitian paintings.
First Friday also hosts a gallery to fit every taste. The Larry Becker Studio, for instance, specializes in what some term “minimalist art”. In reality, it showcases contemporary pieces, many of which are quite spare.
Becker’s studio is pretty airy, though it gets a bit noisy at times. Visitors must contend with the creaky wooden floorboards. Against the white walls are canvasses by various artists, all in different shades of red. Upon first glance, these pieces almost seem like a joke—each one is just a single-colored canvas. What really sets each one apart, however, is texture. There are paintings with scratches, polka dots of uniform size sitting in orderly lines, textured reflections of light. These empty red hues are almost decadent in their many layers of depth and in how they transform the light.
If you want something a little more eclectic, check out the Third Street Gallery. Today guests are greeted by ghost-like dolls stuck with pins, nails and toothpicks. On their chests are the entities they represent— “Player,” “Picky,” “Poet.” They’re all part of Kim Knauer’s “Child’s Play” collection. There are impressionistic paintings of girly bedrooms and beaches and prints of fall foliage. You can just make out the flowers in Sheila Grabarsky’s colorful acrylic oasis of flowers.
Another venue you won’t want to miss is the Arden Theater. The theater has free beer and wine (for those of us who are legal). There are also short dance performances downstairs that are not to be missed.
The artwork is composed of a variety of mediums from photographs to prints and paintings. There is a photograph of an androgynous man that will both seduce you and give you chills. And there’s a photo of a woman’s feet in red pumps on a piano, lassoed with a black beaded necklace.
If you want impressive photographs, then the Dalet Gallery is the place to go. The gallery is painted black and white, so you’ll feel like you’re entering a who dunnit. The titles of James Pryor’s photographs say it all: “Sins of the Father,” “Twilight,” “Thorns Still Prick My Spine.” When the faces of the subjects aren’t blurred or bowed, they’re filled with distress. There’s a boy in a hooded sweatshirt screaming with anguish and a frail old woman struggling across a bridge.
There is another room in the back that features a plethora of unusual and macabre pieces. Some bleed with passion, and some are just downright bloody (like the picture of a teddy bear shot in the chest). In another room are paintings by Valera Iskhakov. They are like Picassos, colorful and dismembered pieces that come together like a satisfyingly discordant puzzle. Still others are simply erotic, like the pair of black legs or the bronze nude torso.