Shakespeare would have loved the 21st century gallery opening - the play within the play. The first night of a major exhibition often features a traveling troupe of bartenders and caterers, setting the scene for the starring artist, who may even perform in costume, and the host of locals, aficionados, colleagues and family who show up to watch it all happen. And as the time and wine inexorably flow, well, we all know what happened to Bottom…
 
Focus, if you will, upon Friday evening, October 14th, on the West Side of Manhattan, The first stop is the chashama storefront. artspace on 44th Street. Behind the small stage, set up for chashama's signature  series of "window performances,"  two artists share the gallery. In a small rear room, painter Kristen Schiele installed a mural covering the walls lit in a fairy-like pale green. The front gallery is occupied by Elia Gurna, whose installation occupies the area with painted chairs and floor coverings like giant candy-wrappers.
 
But this was reception night, and act one was the large number of guests milling and munching about little hospitality table, before refilling glasses and moving on to the next schmooze. Inside revelers were found sitting, standing, walking on art. Not what you do at the MOMA, however tempted, but here Ms. Gurna, who later graced the stage in a musical performance, simply said, "I need to fix that," and straightened a crinkled section of floor art. Those conversing in the back room resembled an exotic or elite cabal, which, I realized, was not due to any special relationship, but the fact that the lighting gave the illusion of everyone wearing makeup, as if celebrating an early Halloween.
 
On to the Curb Art Space on West 34th, where passing through the iron gate and crossing the dimly lit, very damp driveway of old cobblestones toward the warm exposed-brick lobby space is a brief romance. Color Feast, featuring artists Romil Kalinov and Ilia Linev, from Bulgaria, was aptly named. Not only did the works display myriad rich shades, from brilliant primaries to earth tones, the buffet was varied and sumptuous beyond usual gallery fare. There were baskets of canapés, cheeses, even little sausages and caviar, with plenty of good red and white wine to go along and keep the youngish crowd of serious dressed-in-black aficionados percolating. Much like a welcome guest at a lovely house party, I felt sad as we took our leave of Kiril Tarpov, the host and curator… but, Chelsea beckoned, and she would not wait.
 
The vibrant and welcoming aura of an event at Claire Oliver Fine Art translates well to their posh-minimalist new digs. The art and persons, or art in person, of “The Self Proclaimed Hermaphrodite Twins from the Future,” Eva and Adele, took over the main floor gallery.  It seemed to call for something beyond the standard perusal of the works, which were all branded with the image of the pair, and those joyfully assembled appeared to be “in” on the secret, engaged and excited.
 
 
Shadows on the frosted glass windows of the Paul Kasmin Gallery, cast by the partiers within, were irresistible, not to mention the fact that the walls were hung with “Superpop” by Kenny Scharf.. It was also hard to say "no" to the dozens of raised and glazed doughnuts mounded on the gallery's reception desk, both as a tribute to the artist and a treat for his fans. Seemed an odd choice paired with the wine and fizzy water at the bar, until one took direction from a printed street and visited the gallery's other space, a tiny storefront nearby.
 
Christened "Kenny Scharf's Closet 24" for the occasion, the room had been given over to an installation covering every inch, from the mirrored floor, to the draped walls, furnished in classic psychedelic accoutrements, bathed in a purple haze of black-light. Add revelers and we were transported to a fraternity basement furnished in "1970 headshop", a magical place where one might indeed make donkey of himself and still win the heart of the fairy princess, or at least eat all those doughnuts.

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