A Night At The Herstory Art Show

Words: Faith Thurnwald
Photos: MACAMI

It’s raining as I show up to the Herstory art show. My mock umbrella: a stolen leather jacket, is now drenched, but at least I didn’t get my hair wet. I take a look at the art, immediately hues of pinks, purples and blues jump out at me. I grab a beer and peruse the room; it’s crowded and steamy. Like most of my encounters with men, ‘Herstory’ is here for one night… and one night only. ‘Herstory’ showcases ten headliners and ten support acts, all of which are street artists, an art event operating under a feminist ethos of equal representation within the industry.

A pick-me-up bottle or two of champagne is in order, after some slow afternoon reds and a little dabble in the snow (it’s the responsible thing to do, no one likes a sloppy red-wine drunk). My friends head to the bottleo while I take a piss and slide off the toilet seat in a lady like fashion.

We head back into the gallery, restocked and ready. I notice art by Kezamine and Shani Finch, two like-minded artists who paint within a similar colour palette, celebrating the intricacies of the female form. One of Kezamine’s pieces is an almost grotesque erotica: an enticing ass leading to the gates of heaven, or hell? Shani Finch displays a work of intimate objects; vibrator and gag mask, all sketched into the inner dwellings of her world. The woman of the hour, co creator and curator of the A2Z duo, also showcases her work. Aleja Hine displays a piece, which ties neatly into the shows theme: a still life that depicts Medusa, wine and feminist literature. In her works you can distinguish the unique mix of colour blocks, and intricate detail that typically appear in still life imagery.

I do a few more laps of the room accompanied by my bottle of champagne – we make a great couple. The all female line-up consists solely of street artists. Each artist bringing something unique and different to the table, or rather: to the wall. The crowd thins out, and we have to sit down because high-heels fucking hurt. We decide to drink on and pile into an Uber, drawing explicit images on the fogged up window: adulthood. We arrive at a bar and buy fancy cocktails to later spill. I attempt to pay for said fancy cocktails with my go card, the bartender doesn’t look amused as I try to play off the mistake; joking that there isn’t enough money on my go card anyway. I’ve done this before…but at least last time it was actually on a bus – except that it was a curtsey bus and I was monumentally shitfaced.

I end the night with beef jerky in bed and an eager attitude, to see what’s next for A2Z. I’ll be sure to bring a bottle of champagne, or three.

For More: A Night At the Modern Vices Art Show