9:45am | Blair Cohn is a man who wants a little bit of everything. Scratch that. A lot of everything.
If you’ve been to one of the First Fridays events in Bixby Knolls in the past year, then you probably already knew this. The monthly arts and music street festival has been around for four years but has grown exponentially since Cohn took the reigns about two years ago. The event has come a long way, but Cohn is not one to be satisfied and is constantly talking about the changes that he would like to make.
About a month ago, rumors began to spread that the monthly Los Angeles Art Walk – a downtown L.A. event that is basically First Fridays on a massive scale – was being forced to close and would have a final appearance on October 14. Knowing that this was one of the main sources of inspiration for First Fridays over the past few years, I called Cohn and asked if he’d like to attend the first Art Walk. It turned out that the event’s near closure drew a monsoon of support and so it will continue as a monthly event, but we had already made the plans so Cohn and I decided to go anyway. Last Thursday, we set out for Los Angeles with Cohn’s girlfriend Alissa Sablan, who also happens to be a longtime friend of mine from our days as CSULB freshmen.
The crowd was smaller than usual, they said, likely because rumors had spread that the event was shutting down. Still, it was something to behold for anyone who hadn’t previously had the pleasure. Art Walk is very much like a juiced up First Fridays, not only in size and scale but in the kinds of people that it attracts. Everyone from teenagers past curfew and starving artists to young professionals to giddy grandparents bumped past us through the crowded streets. There was something to see or do on every street corner, and there seemed to be a different band or DJ or live artists working every few feet as far as the eye could see. This, ultimately, is Cohn’s vision for First Fridays, and every few minutes he would turn and excitedly point to something and say “This is what I want!”
For instance:
“That guy. That’s what I want,” he said, pointing to a man in tattoos and a furry hat. “Characters, I want characters. Characters to entertain, amaze and stupify.”
And then:
I want no gaps, something every few steps to keep the energy going,” he said. “Energy begets more energy.”
At one point, in an abandoned building that has been transformed into a temporary art gallery – a la the Expo building famously anchoring First Fridays – a Long Beach City employee greets us and asks us to point him toward the booze. “Social lubricants,” Cohn laughs. “They’re important. First Fridays needs more of that.”
Later, a DJ spinning records in the lobby of a printing company draws an energetic crowd that soon morphs into a breathing dance party that spills into the streets. Fire trucks stop to take photos before smiling and going on their way. The energy from the jumping teens is magnetic. “Dancing,” Cohn says. “That’s what I want. Dancing in the streets. Spontaneous dancing. That’s the answer to your question. Look at this business blowing up. If you put good music out there – look, let’s put a dance party in this corner and an art gallery over here. Then they’ll go home and say, ‘Man, I really had fun dancing, and watching that live artists, and listening to spoken word.’ You need to give them something you’ll remember.”
We stop at one of the many parking lots lined with food trucks, philly cheesesteaks for Sablan and me and a soy hot dog for Cohn. A few more random art galleries – including several inside historic banks – and we’re on our way back to the car, minds racing with ideas to expand First Fridays and bring some of this same energy to Long Beach. Most of what makes Art Walk successful already exists in First Fridays, just on a larger scale and with a more diverse and lively audience. It’s getting there, and Cohn knows it, but he’s an impatient person and wants his event to reach its potential as soon as possible. For now, he’s happy just walking the streets and drinking in the Art Walk atmosphere. Until a man in a panda bear costume walks by.
“That’s what I want,” he says, looking back at me as we cross through the intersection. “A panda.”
A two-man band brings life to a dark alley.
