BITCH SLAP art exhibition at Thrush Holmes Empire.

Eurotrash gets Bitch Slapped.

November 22, 2010

Man, I feel like a woman.

Playground Project’s Derek Mainella is the mastermind curator behind BITCH SLAP, a miscellaneous assemblage of photographs, paintings, installation pieces, holograms and video art on display this past weekend at Thrush Holmes Empire. I like the word he used to describe what the exhibition is not: “over-curated”. In fact, the only thing all 600+ guests that showed up at the opening friday night could really agree upon, in terms of a sort of ubiquitous theme or aesthetic: it was pretty “cool” and oh yeah, if you’re going for the obvious, all but one of the artists sport a vajayjay (but she’ll try to convince you otherwise).

Derek Mainella (avec tie), Caitlin Agnew and their crew

Derek’s lovely lady and my ghost-writer-collegue-turned-glam-galpal, Caitlin Agnew, was easily one of the best-dressed of the evening. In a hot coral, super short Herve Leger number (that I helped her pick out earlier that day at REmix); hair slicked back a la Kate Moss; snow-white, vintage fur jacket for keeping warm during those surreal “people-watching” moments outside the gallery – Caitlin was a bitch slap in heels. Jeffrey Campbell heels, that is. She’ll be posting her version of the evening on her site: My Favourite Books.com.

Caitlin and I

My experience of the night is probably best not shared on my semi-professional blog:

Starting the night off with a murderer’s couch in a storage unit; gossiping about men in the fashion industry – their name-changes, sex-changes, how they’d hold up in bar fight, their proclivity for women, sometimes; random invitation to watch The Room at the Royal (which spawned a concatenation of Tommy Wiseau quotes); getting free money for free PBR, meeting the strangest characters Toronto has to offer and doing strange things with them; having serious conversations with my dear friend, Brendan; dancing to Amerie with best friends that showed up after all the strange things occurred; seeing old faces; falling somewhere on Ossington, gracefully, “like a leap frog”, as I reached the 12 hour maximum in my Jeffrey Campbells – that’s the PG version.