"This shit had better be good," I thought as I found the cryptically hidden entrance to the gallery. A layer of sweat had built up on my brow, and my patience had worn thin pacing the perimeter of the gallery trying to find the way to the intersting art and free booze. As I walked in to the gallery, the relief of the cool air enveloping my body quickly lifted my spirits. Only a small handful of people meandered about the high-ceilinged gallery. The walls were white, with multiple rooms spread out over the building. The bar with the loverly libations mentioned by Roberto was staffed by a nice guy, and a 30/40's-ish couple chatted nearby. The man happened to be the artist, and a helluva nice guy. No pretense, and answered my authentic yet uneducated enthusiasm for his work with honest answers. It was his first time in LA, and I immediately accosted him with questions on how it felt to at least come to the mecca of broken dreams.

His work was entertaining and lighthearted. His work draws from the spirit of rather ordinary objects, and personifies them into life. I especially enjoyed the VHS tapes and the daddy long leg spider family. Also interesting was his technique of affixing his pieces to the wall using fabricated band-aids.

Got to peep out the work with Roberto and his very cool mom. As one of the best looking/most intelligent people I know in LA, I had a hunch that Roberto came from solid roots. It's a Yay-Area thang.