I have a long held distaste for street fairs. Always the same crappy crafts seemingly aimed at stoner white boys with dreds, food concessionaires burning gristle and claiming it’s fajita, and bands that sound like they only met moments before taking the stage and whose singer and lead guitarist are working out their differences by performing two different songs. And the crowds shuffling along not really sure why they have wound up there; people I would not sit next to voluntarily on a bus.
So what was mrpeenee doing at the Castro Street Fair on Sunday? Shilling for his dear friend Secret Agent Fred.
Fred is one of those very rare creatures: an artist who actually creates art. He works steadily on drawings and paintings and odd little collages, his style evolving over the years, but always charming, interesting pieces. As his weak spot is marketing, they tend to pile up rather, lately in my garage. I thought if we got a booth at the fair, the public would see his genius for a change and snap some of them up.
I was right, too. We sold 13 or 15 pieces (we forgot to keep count, that’s the kind of big-time merchants we are) including one before the fair even started. I think more useful than the sales was the encouragement to Fred from all the people who stopped by and were loud with their cries of admiration. Cheap motherfuckers.
Also, let me make a correction. I have, for all this time written about the artist as SECRET Agent Fred when, in fact, the correct name is SUPER Agent Fred. I prefer my way, but it’s his nom de artiste.