The art is about parties. The afternoon before a party, when time is kind of surreal, snack all day, indulge in a long shower and full skincare and sit around with a towel on your head. The records played while you put on makeup. The gossip while you debate details like which earring is right. The selfies while you wait to leave. The friend helping buckle a shoe. The playlist in the uber on the way. The person you text your eta. The anxiety when you first get there, that maybe tonight is a dud. Champagne and bubbles. That very specific sound women make when they see each other all made up. That feeling when you bond a little with someone you really want to be friends with. The wink and hand motion when someone agrees to sneak out with you for the first cigarette of the night. When you’re a little sad because the nights going too fast and suddenly maybe so did your whole life. The lipstick fixed in the bathroom and it's the first moment in the whole night you've had alone. Inappropriately deep conversation among all these people because Fitzgerald said there's privacy in this or something. Eye contact and smiling. Dancing. Cheering on your friend because she's the best dancer making an Instagram story of how happy your friends are/ holding hands platonically. Sneaking out with someone. Making out where people can see. Making out where people cannot see. Returning to the crowd with less perfect lipstick. Whispering oh my god to your friends. Crying happy tears. Crying sad tears. Asking where everyone is going next. Sharing cigarettes. Slow blinking and lip closed smiling. Pictures with the flash on, fully aware of the unavoidable stares. Disco balls and big red roses and feral leopard and hotel rooms. Sunglasses in the PTA meeting the next day. 3 coffees while the girl finishes ballet.
