House full of visuals and entertainment

There is a new captivating locale in downtown Long Beach for the creative mind to be observed, displayed, listened to and fondled all under the same aging roof and sky.

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The Hole

 

R.S. HAKES

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Last Saturday night I experienced the Safe House for the first and definitely not the last time.

The Safe House exists in a spacious downtown edifice temporarily commandeered by two crusading handfuls of local artists.

The artists are seeking a permanent haven to expand and promote the imaginative display and creation of ideas constructed by people interested in art culture.

Once I entered the building the sound of live music and the sight of extensive art immediately stimulated my eyes, ears and gray matter.

Oil paintings reflecting artists' personalities and large abstract structures were erected from the floor reaching to the ceiling.

I was asked to inscribe a few personal facts into the guest log and eagerly complied by quickly sketching a self-portrait, accentuating my best features.

After pleading with the man at the door to hang my personal rendition on the wall next to a local artist's jumble of oil on plywood, I made my way into the exhibit's interior.

I walked in and around various art pieces observing them objectively.

Several types of art created through diverse mediums ranged from complete masterpieces to my own personal perplexing artistic assessment of, "who am I to say what art is."

I passed by a night-stand with drawers full of goldfish, colorfully tiled porcelain toilets and entered into the main room. Small artsy cliques were milling around, while others danced and grooved to the impressive sounds of a jazz influenced band named Hasselhoff Curtainrod. Once again I was tardy and only witnessed the band's last two extremely talented and soulful jams.

The crowd responded enthusiastically after each song and mildly begged for a continuation at the completion of Hasselhoff Curtainrod's set.

The disappointment was short lived once the next band Delta Nove began to erect its set. I took full advantage of the musical intermission and casually strolled over to the photography exhibit, where I observed an interesting black and white piece by Mark Bower titled "Smooth Terrain."

It was a great photograph with beautiful tones accented by impressive lighting of an immensely fit man lying nude on his back, extending from nipple to scrotum.

I felt the lighting of the man's ripped abs overpowered his healthy flaccid penis, but a nearby opinionated female onlooker verbally disagreed.

A lady friend of mine brought me an interesting foaming concoction that I immediately gulped down without second thoughts and tried to encourage me to shake my rump to the Latin jazz beats of Delta Nove.

I immediately pointed my finger at a crazy iron statue across the room and wittily said, "is that iron?" and then speedily walked towards it. I made a sparkling clean getaway.

Delta Nove was in full effect and a small freak-out session was taking place on the hardwood floor in front of the band. This band was equally as impressive as Hasselhoff Curtainrod and even turned it up a notch.

Beyond the standard instruments they attached a percussionist, saxophone, trumpet and bongos.

These guys were jamming and the crowd of artistic onlookers loved it.

I really enjoyed Delta Nove and will put my entire bank account - of $3.63 - on the fact that anyone who actually reads this column of drunken babble will dig them too.

I looked down and realized my hips were swaying and my foot was tapping to the jazzy beat.

Before my rump was shaking uncontrollably, I headed into "The Womb," a relaxing interactive art experience.

I will not divulge the secrets of "The Womb," since one should definitely experience it for him or herself. But if one has forgotten the incredibly perplexing and physically demanding moment of exiting from mama, then "The Womb" is a great place to rehash those painful memories with a host of strangers.

I demand you pass up "Friends," "Ally McBeal" and all the other soap opera filled crap on your boob-tube this week and go to the Safe House for a creatively stimulating evening. They host a plethora of exhibits and performances, a few of which are poetry readings, Kabuki Theatre and live bands on Saturday night.

Admission to Safe House is free, yes, I said free, but do not be afraid to drop a few bills into the donation box since these people are doing you a favor.

One can be a boob in front of the boob-tube any day, but one can only be a boob at the Safe House until Dec. 20.