Artborne Magazine June 2017 | Page 13

much of the dialogue seems intentionally trite, much like most soap operas that I’ve seen. Sometimes I would almost forget that the characters were playing different genders, until I look again at Franco’s character in a dress and a mustache. The blur is not only part of the entertainment, but also part of why the work goes deeper than just watching out- takes from a soap opera. The Kalup Linzy and James Franco show was the destination, but it was also a backdrop for an adventure. Prior to going to the show, we went to Sanibel and Captiva to look at the scenery, and fi nd Rauschenberg’s house. His house on Captiva has been sold. You can see the gate where it says “Private Drive” and “No Trespassing.” There is also a toll fee to get onto the islands, and felt more exclusive than a small town. When I stopped at the 7-11 an older man pushed the cooler door into me as if he was pushing me out of the way. I was dumbfound- ed that someone in their 70s would be so aggressive. I thought about how this kind of behavior might go over in a place like Miami. When I was getting ready to drive away, I just buckled up when I saw a woman pounding on the driver’s window. I opened the win- dow. She started to lecture me about how I was taking too much time to get out of the parking lot, and that people were waiting. I looked around and didn’t see anyone waiting. I confess that after she yelled at me, I gave her a rare “fuck you.” I wasn’t in Mayber- ry. I know that this wasn’t probably the same place that Raus- chenberg chose to retreat to get out of the New York City rat race. Florida is such a mixed bag. The Raus- chenberg Gallery is more of an anomaly in the area. Florida has pockets that show in- ternationally known contemporary art. Miami is the most notable, but most of the state’s metropolitan areas have some excellent show- ings. The mixed bag part comes from the melting pot aspect of Florida. Driving through the Lake Wales Ridge looks like it could only be Florida, but a large part of Florida has a twang, mixed with snowbirds, and others who have relocated from other countries. The roadside is scattered with many chain restaurants, mom and pop diner types, Latin American markets and restaurants. Some of the best Mexican food that I’ve ever had has come from little joints in small towns or out in the country alongside Florida highways. As we drove through Everglades City follow- ing a long awaited downpour (we’ve had a long drought), it appeared that everyone had left town. In the ’80s, most of the population of this sleepy swamp town were arrested for pot smuggling. The area known as Ten photo by Ashley Inguanta Thousand Islands was a source of frustration for DEA agents. The locals laughed about manipulating the agents into areas where they would get stuck in shallow water. It’s interesting that the Everglades City Wikipedia page doesn’t mention the smuggling arrests. That seems pretty suspicious. After Fort Myers, we headed north on 41 to- wards Sarasota, or Pinecraft to be more pre- cise. Pinecraft is an Amish and Mennonite community located in the suburbs of Sarasota. We ended up at Yoder’s Restaurant. They are known for their pie and fried chicken. By the way, both are excellent. Driving down the back roads doesn’t feel very bac k road a lot of times. There are plenty of empty strip malls, defunct tourist spots. Flori- da is an aggregate of what is wrong and what is right about this country. The dead tourist spots symbolize unfulfi lled and unrealized dreams. Empty malls, businesses that may have boomed or possibly didn’t, plenty of bars and churches. I dream of a Florida from the past that is more progressive than previous times. I dream of canopied roads, mom and pop tourist traps. It’s a place that has to be experienced for a long time to understand what it is. Maybe most places are like that. I am hopeful that amidst the greed and shallowness that the benevolent dreamers will win in Florida and elsewhere. Next week, I plan on taking the ele- vator to the top of the Clermont Citrus Tower. I want to look out the window. I know it will be beautiful. Orlando Arts & Culture, v. 2.6 12