Art for the Internet age
*Sons of Parts Unknown

We were sure we had been given the wrong address. Wading past a disgruntled man wearing only one shoe and a gaggle of strangers smoking questionable substances in sidewalk shadows we stared listlessly into dark store front windows. Everything was closed.

We trekked on until we spotted a plaid shirt and an ironic moustache. Warmer, we thought. Inconspicuously sketched onto a red door we finally found the right words: Butcher Gallery. Bingo.

Up a steep staircase was a table of cheese and chips and brownies and a few mingling guests. The first door we tried led to a cluttered bed. Was it some sort of Tracey Emin sloth-like statement? No, just a bed. Moving on.

Down a dark hallway we found the actual art in its crowded, white closet-sized space; but it wasn’t what we had expected. A few collages, a mirror set sideways and covered in tiny silver balls, and a floorboard propped up with a white stick. What was this saying about the internet?

We consulted the hand-written and photo-copied single page program, which explained the show was “inspired by the Internet’s influences on identity, narcissism and voyeurism.” Hm.

Shifting my eyes around the room of “hyper-contemporary” young artists and their fans and followers I thought: “I feel self important and watched. Hey! Two out of three ain’t bad.”

With that we bought beers and settled into conversation. One of the un-artists revealed he’d picked out a hanging picture of a naked baby boy at the St. Lawrence Market. “I’m going to go put a red sticker beside it,” he grinned.

As he walked away I watched an actual handshake deal go down. One of the elders in the room beamed towards a fresh faced artist and announced she was picking up his piece. Surprised wide eyes melted into a smug smile as he followed her out the door and towards her car.

And just before we turned the other way I thought to myself: I may not be buying this, but I’m glad someone is.

*Collage by the excellent Liam Crockard