Went to the triennial TriMania last night with members of Solid Gold Bookers, the event that fills up TriMain building with people and art. A warehouse that was formerly filled with windshield wipers, and pallets, and workers putting together wiper blades, and Hallwalls.
It's an event of serendipity, as everyone is traipsing up and down stairs, up and down the slowest elevator in the land. Last TriMania I employed the freight elevator to much speedier effect. Best portion was dancing to an imported d.j., a yawn-stifling femme from the Shiney Apple who mixed up some nice international drumbeats.
Just planned the next art foray to the very same S.A. to make and see, interspersed with various errands, and reconnectings. The one Me and Ro solid gold necklack, the tree-imaged ingot, needs a new cotton thread laced around the neck of Yours Truly quick fast in a hurry.
Time to wend out to a ladies blogger brunch.
A roomful of photogs is a much different full room than that of writers.
Given a choice I might pick the former, as it's a more robust energy with an ingrained democracy of shared information and a generalized, rumpled joie de vivre.
The brunch happens at the Middling City's famed Art Emporium so it will be a fine op to pop back into the digvid projections of Steinkamp - especially her Jimmy Carter vertical flowers projections.
Image toppermost is the ceiling of Saint Adelbert's Basilica, shot to show the windowly art.

Windows to Love.

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This Just In.
After a few reflective moments, a few imPerfect barking dogs this fine a.m., and TriMania fellows complaining of their own barking dogs, YT coined the phrase - TriMania Foot. This is a post-reveling - and dancing - condition affecting the lowermost portion of one's person after hours upon concrete flooring, and racing up and down stairs most of an evening.