waiting in line

Hey beautiful people! Last weekend we went down to Ogle to see Scott Wayne Indiana's latest endeavor--a participatory art experence he called "Waiting in Line." If you recognize this artist's name, he's best known in Portland for the horse project where he started lashing tiny toy horses to some of the historic carriage rings that are still embedded in many curbs from ye olden days of this fair city. The project took on a life of its own, inspiring others to add horses themselves. Since this project, I have been a fan of the way that SWI creates low budget public art that, more often than not, exist in multiple locations around the city, and thereby reach a broader and more diverse audience than the majority of local artists are able to achieve. You can read more about his past projects at his website by clicking here.

"Waiting in Line" was basically just that: a door attached to a small facade was installed against one of the gallery walls, with a velvet rope surrounding it. At 1pm sharp, a doorman magically appeared and perched on a stool inside the rope. Scott invited us to get in line. And wait. The performance lasted half an hour and we watched as the line eventually stretched out the front door of Ogle and down the block.

This is a pretty funny thing for me to participate in because I HATE waiting in line. Especially when I'm alone. I have been known to drive to the airport post office 10 minutes away when I see that the line at my local post office is longer than 15 people because I know how chatty and slow it can in this neighborhood meeting place. In this case, I had to make an exception because I love art more than I hate waiting in line.

Now I feel like I should revisit my thoughts about what it means to wait in line because participating in Scott's piece reminded me of some of the good experiences I've had while waiting in line (especially at art events.) There's one person I met in line at the Portland Art Museum around eight years ago who I still run into all the time and I'm glad to know. It's arguable whether the internet age divides or brings people together, but waiting in line is a common denominator of sorts. If you're waiting for an event, your common interest would be the performance or exhibit. At the Post Office, you might live near the people you meet. (I know I complained about my post office earlier, but if I'm not in a hurry, I actually find it charming.) Sometimes I play a game when I wait in line at the grocery story where I guess what the person in front of me is going to cook for dinner that night.

At this performance, we got into a conversation with the man behind us, who gave me some much needed technical tips for a recent private commission I was perplexed about. Another line waiter jumped out of place and started moonwalking, trying to crack a smile from the serious doorman. Everyone in our part of the line turned to watch the spectacle and it made me think of the Fatboy Slim video Spike Jonze did for the song "Praise You." I also saw a few familiar faces while waiting in line last weekend and it was great to reconnect with some of my fellow creatives. Sort of like a party, but with coffee not wine.

It's an interesting ritual that humans do--lines indicate a sense of order in the world--a first-come, first-served notion of fairness that people in the Western World have pretty much agreed upon. I remember hearing a story on This American Life, I believe, about an American visiting a country in the middle east and trying to go to buy some bread at the local bakery. There wasn't enough for everyone in that room, and there was quite a ruckus of people reaching and yelling in their native language, trying to implore the baker for their share. Every once in a while, a bag containing one of the coveted loaves would be passed back through the crowd to a particularly vocal person in the rear, and it was a complete mystery to the storyteller how that person not only gained priority, but how the hungry crowd aided and abetted them.

In the case of this performance piece, we knew we were complying with Scott's wishes, and that there was no typical reward at the end for our waiting.