Yesterday was the day–the day I finally visited Recycled Propaganda. It’s an art gallery in the arts district of downtown Las Vegas. Ming went there a while ago. He bought me some stickers. But I had that year I didn’t go anywhere, the covid year, as I grieved my mom’s death. Finally yesterday we went–yay.
I brought some of my zines, in a bag, thinking I might ask the Recycled Propaganda person if they wanna sell my zines, at their gallery. But there were no zines for sale already, and I didn’t feel like asking. By the end of our visit, I was worn out from hardcore art viewing, and chickened out.
Maybe another day, I will try again, or task Ming with the brave work of asking. He’s better at stuff like that.
We went with our good friend, and it was fun to see art with her, as she is an artist also.
The place has three rooms. The back room is smallish, has an uneven concrete floor, and has a bathroom that has art in it. This is in the bathroom.
The front room has art, postcards, stickers for sale–patches too. And clothes for sale.
The middle room is my favorite. It’s the disco room. Some walls have art for sale. But the south wall is covered in graffiti and stickers. There’s a water heater, with graffiti on it, and some signs. But I was very excited about the phone booth.
How happy do you think I was, in there? I love phone booths, graffiti, and pretend streets.
There was this area with a bunch of medicine cabinets, and you had to open them, to see the art inside. Very evocative and stimulating. I was kind of overwhelmed and didn’t take many pics.
The music was great, and I danced a lot. I would like to return, just to dance, surrounded by art.
“I really liked one of those paintings, in the dicso room. I want to lie in bed and just remember all that art,” I told my friend as she drove us home.
“Why don’t you make that art?” she asked.
“Well, I want to remember it, digest it, and then poop out my own version,” I said.
Hmm, I guess I want to recycle the Recycled Propaganda. Strange, isn’t it. But we’re all recycling one another’s propaganda, right?
I used to think it was cheating, to copy others’ art, or even to look at a picture of an otter on the internet, if I wanted to draw an otter. Wow, how mean I was! Sorry I was so mean to you, Laura-Marie. I will be nicer.
Now I understand that passing anything through my own eyes, mind, and hands will make it into something new, even if I didn’t want to. Authenticity doesn’t mean I came up with everything. We can’t come up with everything.
Even if I made my own paper from invasive weeds and made my own paint from purple cabbages I grew and minerals I dug out of the ground. That sounds fun, though. Let’s dig up minerals and make paint.
I want to go back to this cool art gallery and take better pics. I really like this postcard–I want to share it with my Las Vegas Radical Mental Health Collective peeps.
The term insanity isn’t something I identify with. Crazy or craxy describe what I am. Or voice hearer, or psychiatric survivor. But I really understand how isolation can harm people. It’s harmed me.
I love this art gallery for being a lively, creative, stimulating place. The aesthetic is appealing. I love that it’s local. It’s one of the many things about my city that I feel proud of, a reason to love Las Vegas.
I’m grateful that I finally visited. If you come to town, we can go there to dance. It’s free to enter but kind of like a little museum. I will add it to my mega list of fun things to do in Las Vegas. Love to the artists.