Giving Artists the Unalienable Right to Shit
O’Flaherty’s co-founder Jamian Juliano-Villani and her collaborators spent weeks organizing volunteer requests and accepting submissions, which ultimately they by the hundreds from floor to ceiling. The grand opening was schedule, and rescheduled. Though THE PATRIOT was gleefully advertised as an artist’s worst nightmare — the summer group show to end all summer group shows — artists of all calibers eagerly submitted their work with little to no knowledge of what would happen to it.
On opening night, the show was a mob scene, packed wall to wall with sweaty hipsters. While agrowing crowd lingered outside, inside artists and friends were scrambling ‘Where’s Waldo’-style, in an attempt to locate their submissions amid a scene full of creative and social chaos. O’Flaherty’s had converted every room, including bathrooms and storage closets, into viewing spaces.
One curtained doorway revealed a candlelit and glass-encased pillow allegedly used by Abraham Lincoln. Another tiny passageway led to a severely lit room containing only a malfunctioning robot monkey shuddering in a litter box, an empty brownie brittle bag chained by the corners to the wall, and pieces of an industrial vacuum strewn across the floor. Select works include a corn kernel watering can, a puzzle-ized ultrasound, a clergyman with a makeover, a briefcase with a built-in toilet paper dispenser, a butt painted on a golden platter.
The show was reminiscent of a Kentucky roadside truck stop curated by a weirdo collector-of-stuff with a couple screws loose.
Fifteen minutes into office’s viewing experience — a mere 45 minutes into the opening — NYPD showed up to shut down the joint, citing fire and safety hazards. Within the hour, and with the help of Juliano-Villani shouting through a megaphone, the giant crowds and gallery-goers dispersed into the streets of Alphabet City. This clusterfuck will be on view until August 9th, presumably law enforcement free.
