Logs:Fine Artists

Fine Artists
Dramatis Personae Charlie, Ion, Tag	2019-05-15 "I thought you was anarchists up in here! You can handle some kind of rule chaos, no?"
Location <NYC> Chimaera Arts - DUMBO
This is just one of the many abandoned warehouses in DUMBO, and like many of them it has recently changed hands. /Unlike/ most of those, however, it does not have some corporate developer's sign out front promising a transformation into luxury condominiums or a boutique shopping center or the latest concept restaurant. Instead it's marked by a piece of weathered but wildly colorful plywood propped up on a stack of broken pallets, which reads "Chimaera Art Space!" above "chimaera.org" in smaller letters. The warehouse is moderately large and decorated with graffiti art in various styles--some of it recognizable as the work of renowned local street artists. A pair of monstrous scrap metal sculptures, perhaps still works in progress, flank the entrance. The building itself has undergone significant renovation recently, complete with wiring, plumbing, and a modular partitioning system. The grounds, too, have been cleaned up, ramshackle fences torn down and rusting detritus removed in favor of reclaimed (and brilliantly repainted) outdoor furniture ringing an impressively engineered firepit. This fine spring afternoon is perfect for a fundraiser! This particular one seems to be a bit vague on theme, and has kind of devolved into a cookout with impromptu performance art demos. There /is/ in fact art for sale, ranging from small original canvases to scrap metal art, as well as some used books (cheap!), and baked goods (vegan! gluten free! wildly colored!). Tag has been flitting around ostensibly overseeing the organization of this event, which might explain a few things. At the moment, he's sitting on the edge of the information table, amongst messy stacks of pamphlets and zines and clipboards with sign-up sheets, greeting all comers. His hair is a pinwheel of bright-bright rainbow colors falling messily to his shoulders and mostly covering one of his eyes (whose irises are an improbable shade of magenta). He wears a light purple t-shirt with a cartoon chimera on the front, black cargo pants with yellow lightning bolts zig-zagging down the outseams, and hot pink high-top sneakers. He has a complicated rainbow cat's cradle stretched between his fingers presently. The quiet but distinct purr of a motorcycle engine rolls up outside. Shuts off. Far LESS quiet than the bike -- "YO, /boy/ them pants is fire how I get me /that/ design?" Ion's BOOMING bass of a voice, deep and cheerful, has no problem making itself heard above the rest of the hubbub. The man /himself/ is kind of -- haaaalf skirting around the table, half hopping over the corner of it to plop himself down behind Tag. Does he work here? NOPE? He's taking over the information table /anyway/, propping himself up on it in front of the sign-in sheets like he BELONGS. Drops his motorcycle helmet atop a pile of zines. Rests an elbow on some pamphlets as he leans forward. His leather vest (heavily worn, heavily beaten up, adorned liberally with patches -- MUTANT MONGRELS MC, the back reads, with a Jolly Roger-esque logo, though the crossbones have been replaced with crossed lightning bolts and the skull has fangs and horns) worn open over a grungy plain white tee. He's patting the sturdy plain jeans he currently wears, as if INDICATING where yellow lightning bolts might -- potentially? Hopefully? Go. Charlie wasn't planning on going to the fundraiser, in fact, she didn't even /know/ there was one. She just so happened to have stumbled upon the location on accident, and to be quite frank she wasn't sure if she should have stopped to check it out or merely keep walking. Curiosity, however, had other plans in mind for her. She slowly began to make her way towards the information table, glancing at the two seated and raising an eyebrow. "Uhm - excuse me. What is all this stuff for? I don't think I've ever came across these parts before." "Hiiii," Tag chirps. "You get those by being /awesome/, which can take several forms." Though even while speaks, bright yellow zigzagging outlines are already appearing along the side of Ion's jeans where he indicated. "Like you can help out a bit around the fundraiser if you got time, donate a little cash if you got some to spare, or bring by some food for the collective some time, whatever." The outline shifts a bit to suit the line of the jeans better. "You're a pretty resourceful dude, I have faith you'll figure something out, but you don't have to go overboard! This is just a little thing. Hiiii!" Tag is very full of enthusiastic greetings today, this latest one being for Charlie. "Yeah, it's kind of out of the way! This is a fundraiser for the Chimaera Arts Collective. We're a group of artists who share supplies, studio space, labor, and so on. We put on a bunch of classes and events which are also open to non-members." He picks up one of the pamphlets from the table and holds it out to Charlie. "Feel free to check out our website, too. I'm Tag, by the way, nice to meet you!" "Shiiit, /friend/!" Ion's eyes have gotten /wide/ with delight. He rocks back in his chair, resting one booted foot up on the table so as to better watch the bright yellow lightning bolts start to take shape on his jeans. "You want food, I bring you hella food. Better than that weird-ass fake chili I had last time I come by! /Real/ food. /Good/ food. /Real good/ food. White beans!" He is looking up, now, large brown eyes /earnest/ as he explains this apparently terrible sin to Charlie. "Those ain't /chili/ beans they had just turn all to /mush/." Charlie took the pamphlet she was given, tilting her head somewhat in curiosity before giving it a quick read. She nodded her head as she listened to Tag speak, eventually turning her attention back towards the two. “Huh — what events do you guys have going on? And — food? You sound pretty passionate about this real food stuff —“ She rose an eyebrow, tilting her head somewhat before giving a soft snicker. Tag bobs his head excitedly, the red section of his fringes falling across /both/ of his eyes now until he pushes it out of the way. "That would be /great!/ Our people here are great, but...well...cooking can't be /everyone's/ art!" The lightning bolt outlined on the side of Ion's jeans fills itself in with the same bright yellow, as though an invisible artist was painting it onto him. A second bolt (this one below the knee) starts to outline itself soon after, though not nearly as quickly as the first. At Charlie's question he brightens--literally, it seems, the already vibrant colors of his hair, eyes, and clothes seem to pop. "Oh, we've got /all/ kinds! Live art shows, plays, concerts, free stores, workshops, family craft days, community clean ups--and we're always open to suggestions!" He flashes a quicksilver grin. "Some people think we suffer scope creep, but I think it's just that our members have such diverse interests and skills. Are you into art? Any kind, not just 'fine' arts." "You let the white people touch the food here," Ion says this with the same level of earnestness, with a quick shake of his head, "/that's/ where your problem at. So many other things they could be doing around here! Make a rule! Kitchen --" His hand makes a slicing motion across his neck, his tongue clicking against his teeth. "Hell yeah. Amazing. This shit, it last? You do bikes?" He's examining the sides of his jeans, his grin bright as he lets his foot fall off the table. Not all the way to the floor; he rests his knee against the table's edge, his palm bracing beside it as he tips his chair back -- forward -- back -- forward. "Not /just/," he's piggybacking this statement off of Tag's last, offering Charlie the oh-so-helpful addendum, "but damn they do got a lot of /fine/ artists here all the same." His thumb is jerking casually in Tag's direction. "Oh, a free store?" She tapped a finger on her bottom lip for a moment, thinking quietly to herself before nodding her head. "I am into writing and journalism, as well as writing poems and stories - writing has always been sort of a side interest of mine but I still like to spend time doing it." She giggled somewhat, turning her gaze towards Ion with a soft smile. "Uhh, but we also have /Jax/," Tag points out, effecting an exaggerated shrug, both palms up. The lightning bolt revises itself again, adjusting a line that had been drawn twisted where the fabric was scruched up before. He bounces in place, shaking the table a little. "Oh sweet, a writer! We hold writing workshops, editing circles, and poetry readings. Not sure about journalism, but folks do make zines about relevant current events!" To Ion again, quite confidently, "It'll fade /eventually/, just from getting worn off, but unless you scrub the hell out of your clothes it'll stay a good long while. I'll do bikes--I'll do pretty much /anything/ that's reasonably solid." "Oh shit he /real/ fucking white ain't he? But he Southern, Georgia they full of black people he gotta learn a /something/ down there yeah?" Ion lets his chair thump heavily back to the floor. Bounces to his feet, patting at the fresh new lightning bolt on his pants. "Great, good, good, maybe you interested, doing some bikes some time, we work something out, huh?" Now he rests a foot on the chair he'd just been sitting on, his arms crossing loosely on his knee. "The fuck is a zine?" His chin lifts to Charlie, curious. "Stories? What kind of story?" "Zine is like - self published works - I think." She tapped her chin again before gazing upon the pamphlet once more. "Writing has always been an interest of mine - any form of it really. Journalism and poems are just the first few that came to me." She smiled again, leaning her weight back and forth on her heels. "I think that rule's starting to look /pretty/ complicated." Tag snickers. "But yeah, hit me up, I'll draw all over you bikes." He snaps his fingers at Charlie (each fingernail changing a different color as he does so. "That's exactly it! They're magazines, except all the writing and art and printing and whatever is do-it-yourself. We've got some pretty nice ones on the rack just inside the warehouse door. Even ones with /color/ art!" His eyes (an improbable shade of purple now) glimmer with excitement. "But yeah, definitely come check out some of our writing and poetry events some time. Or just come hang out and I promise, we /do/ have /real/ food sometimes." "I thought you was anarchists up in here!" Ion is laughing as he bounces to his feet. "You can handle some kind of rule chaos, no?" He claps his hands heavily down onto Tag's shoulders (there's a very brief but strong JOLT that accompanies the touch), jostling the smaller man amiably. "Bet on it. We gonna be the most /stylish/ of crew. I mean, smallsharks they already /is/ but maybe, you help me halfway keep up with 'em." He snags his helmet off the table, waggling it to Charlie. "You should join. These people, they good people." He's bounding off across the warehouse, though, calling a cheerfully loud greeting to someone as he vanishes to go check out the scrap metal art. "Oh - I wouldn't mind joining - I actually think I'd really like to be a part of this place." She admitted, a smile peeking on her face as she rested a hand on her hip and shoved the pamphlet into her back pocket. "So - how do I join? Do I sign up anywhere, fill out a paper - give you guys my social security number and credit card?" She giggled, playfully rolling her eyes before giving Ion a small wave. "See you around as well -!" "You have a point! I'm /kind/ of a crappy anarchist, though." Tag jumps slightly at the zap, but his smile is undimmed. "See ya Ion!" To Charlie he bobs his head excitedly. "Great! So, Chimaera is cooperatively run and cooperatively owned, and if you want to be a member you just -- start coming to our meetings and work events!" He points to a schedule on the back of a pamphlet that had been conveniently flipped over on the table. "Once you've been coming around for a couple of months and folks have gotten to know you, you can apply for membership. There's /some/ paperwork but not like. /Dues/ or anything. Half of our members don't even own credit cards. But!" He raises an index finger dramatically. "If you don't have the time, energy, or desire to do all that, no worries! We have tons of affiliates, too. The main difference is they don't get a direct say in how the collective is run, but like, we still listen to their feedback. We like feedback." His grin is bright, here. "But if you /really/ wanna sign something right now, we have a mailing list that tells you our events and all." A bright green arrow paints itself onto the surface of the table, pointing at a clipboard with a sign-up sheet. "I promise we don't spam."