It’s about the drink art.

Vernissages are something I have never been into.  I’m gonna go so far as to say they’re something I’m still not particularly into.  But vernissages, or gallery openings, are a staple of Berlin life.  Walk down Torstraße on any given Friday and you’ll see many a gallery buzzing with men in blazers and tshirt holding a flute of sekt.  Predominantly a Mitte phenomenon, I’ve recently got wondering why on Earth I more often than can be explained find myself at these events.

Well, I know why really.  Though I’m no big drinker, my buddies enjoy a good hour of free Friday night drinks.  To be fair, from time to time so do I.  Roaming in circles you rarely see and have no connections to can be quite amusing. Like walking into the only saloon in a Western outpost, you either play on the fact you stick out like a sore thumb or you go for the Oscar and make it like you’ve got your art hat on.  Often a much older crowd, I do my best to go for Academy gold but it’s tough to deny the reality of things - I ain’t no artist.

First things first in terms of silly revelations:  I like art.  I appreciate the greats, attempt to appreciate the not-so-greats, even if my understanding and analysis of it is feeble at best.  I like art, though, like I chess - I’ll play if it’s there but seldom go out of my way to line up my king, queen and pawns.  Still, I try to pay attention to it out of guilt for the free drinks but I seem to be the only one who does so.

Ironically, there is a strong sense of observation of the people rather than of the art.  Set up similarly to a museum, these butterfly gatherings are all about the chats.  It seems the art is there as an afterthought - simply to avoid awkward drops in the conversation.  Not unlike other nightlife spots in Berlin (or indeed, generally), there is no shame in staring - or at least nobody holds themselves back from doing so.  I suppose I admire that for its honesty.  People observe and to an extent judge people when they see them and that there’s no denying.  It’s hypocritical, or simply bad acting, to pretend not to.

Without wanting to generalise (the most common beginning to many a generalisation), the verni-gangs are not a mean bunch.  I mean, if anything we’re the ones driving this seemingly economically unviable institution of free drinks and art to the ground.  Still, the level of art wank which these weekly wine and refine sessions stoop to is often too much.  With Summer on its way, though, and my buddies hungry for free alcohol and fun encounters, it seems I will be mmm-ing and ahh-ing a fair few times down the line.  I’d better brush up on my art history then - or at least forcefully flap my social Schmetterling wings - to avoid sticking out like the sore thumb I am.

foto: thx.