A Night At The Spinning Wildfire Event
I show up to the after party sauced – of course. Only suitably though, and not too much. Moderation is my middle name, but I doubt this is evident in my behavior. I offer to buy you shots, dance predominantly in the form of the slut drop, and pose while pissing in the toilet. But before all that, lets rewind.
I’m down the lift and below the rooftop bar, it’s the after party/art show. I walk below lights that take me back to Bosnian nights, as I take in the art. I get up real close – I left my glasses at home in the rush to get an Uber, and now have an excuse for the night being a little blurry. I’m QR code scanning and fanning over familiar faces.
Like minded Brisbane creatives crowd the room, we talk (predominantly shit) and admire the art around us. It’s Spinning Wildfire’s second event, they’re a Brisbane based art collective made up of BIPOC artists, for BIPOC. Created and curated by Mayatu Nova, out of the need for more representation of artist of colour in the under belly of our beloved Brisbane art scene.
The theme is set: dress in white and bring it to life. We all look fucking fantastic. Beads, and blazers, are ablaze and silk and satin look slick and shmik.
For only their second event, they’ve jam packed a whole lot into seconds… Seemingly simultaneously, and across the city Spinning Wildfire is alive and in attendance. We watch Black Pantha: Wakanda Forever at a movie premiere in New Farm, in co-ordination with Radical Premiers.
I drink bubbles and they go to my head as lines from the movie fly over it. The Cinema crowd laugh and applaud as I appreciate cultural nuances that aren’t mine to understand – a captivating experience nonetheless, and one I’m privileged to be a part of. I’ve never sat in a Cinema so engaged and I’m engrossed in the interactive experience.
An Uber ride, a margarita and seconds later I arrive to the second half of Spinning’s event. I’m inside, under the lights and on the scene. I’m begging to be seen in my sequined top and white pants I’ve yet to ruin, that – of course – comes later. Back at the after party/art show Kat Hannavy’s colourful creatures captivate me and catch my eye. Her art ouzes ecstasy in a world of mythical monsters that spill wine: they’re drunk, horny, and they’re coming for YOU.
Her monsters remind me of Indonesian masks my dad once brought home; thick wood and hardly wearable. Like the masks they’re terrifying and terrific. Kat Hannavy paints hedonism and the many hiccups that come with it, and – when I stop drinking my money – I simply must buy some of her art. I can’t wait for her attitude to adorn my walls.
So now I’m suitably sauced and I’ve missed some dance performances – let’s blame it on the bubbles – but I don’t miss Luna Thicc as she lights up my life. A drag performance accompanied by Beyoncé blearing and a little bit of staring, in awe!
The bubbles have completely reached my head as the night comes to an end. Like Kat Hannavy’s terrifying and terrific creatures, mine comes out to play: the cougar queen. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her in all her glory; I give her a nod of recognition as I bring my prey home. Let’s pray this one leaves before I wake up.