On the first Thursday of every month, stacks of individuals turn out to climb through the ant's nest known as 49 Geary in south-east Union Square. body temperatures confined to such close quarters raises the humidity to a balmy 85%. yet it is still a cool place. the chill that runs between the bodies of peoples is ever-so-slightly melted, lubricating the glide of the art spectators to pass one another, unaffected. it is too confined for bristly san franciscans. we are used to navigating a lower altitude range - generally not more than about four stories max. Some of this must be fueled by our protective outer ware being brought inside a large box filled with chambers.
Drones march practically single-file, vacant zombie-eyes passing all the works before them. The first bee-line is for the wine table. the social lubricant easing the frigidity inside.
Out a rhomboid-shaped light well, i notice a scene from a science-fiction novel. Almost no one stopped to notice; yet I think the living well is more interesting than a good percentage of the art slung on the gallery walls.
The weather lures us out more, though protected by layers. If there was a deck out that light well, we'd wonder out and get to know each other. The 49 Geary District needs to be rebranded. Why not funnel some of the up-and-coming hipster disposable income into a new global art draw. Unite the San Francisco movement. How do we translate the S.F. culture into a universally understood language?
How we live has a direct impact on who we are. how we navigate our physical spaces teaches us to sort and order our thoughts and justifications in a similar fashion. One might say a San Franciscan is a little spread, and chilly. And we aren't entirely comfortable when squeezed in the constricted vertical geography of First Thursdays.
