Mar 24th 2012

Fat Tuesday is behind us, Spring Break 2012 will come and go like every other, and it’s named Lent because we are living on borrowed time. The only sacrifice is our New Year’s Eve of the Eve Resolution. We depart to sail directionless with a dozen sheets to the wind, traveling at the mercy of the elements. Expect not to find a safe spot to drop an anchor of meaning, but rather run aground among beached sharks, poached and discarded as waste, save their dorsal fins for Shark’s Fin Soup (which is alleged to boost sexual potency, with science proving the opposite). The cycle of life is perpetual (for now), so let’s raise a glass, bottle, can, fifth or ice-luge and check into the world-renowned MOTEL LIMBO of the morning after (no continental breakfast). As much as we might revel in the excitement of the party, we might also soak in the stillness and clarity during the hazy reality of reflection, recuperation, restoration and perhaps regret. But we’re not alone, as we reminisce by piecing the fictions and fragments of our shared experiences together, while waiting patiently for our table in the hour-plus line at brunch. Inevitably, we will fight fire with five-alarm fire and take our proverbial Hair of The (Sheep) Dog in order to stave off our Sunday sadness, with the difficult and continual process of renewal and reinvention in preparation for the far more difficult work ahead…

Please join us in this meta-party and exhibition highlighting the ever-changing community surrounding the Hills Esthetic Center and the exuberant experiences held within. This multimedia exhibition features artworks and relics that balance the fine line between work and play, optimism and criticality, but most of all the porous membrane between ART and everyday LIFE. The exhibition will also be host to a number of rituals, new and old, celebrating(or dispelling) the myths and realities of independent artist-run initiatives and the spirits that propel them onward.

Hand-crafted “cocktails” will be offered featuring Chicago’s own Swedish-style restorative bitter, Jeppson’s Malört, named The World’s Worst Liquor by NPR whose unofficial slogan is “Malort: Because these pants aren’t gonna shit themselves.” The highest form indeed…

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