Marilyn Manson Breaks New Ground

COURTESY PHOTO Marilyn Manson Watercolor "Shock Rocker" Marilyn Manson held his first art show outside of his LA gallery in downtown Fort Myers on Saturday, March 31 and I was determined to get a quote out of him.

Terry Tincher, owner of Space 39 in downtown Fort Myers, had managed to woo the neo-Goth icon and immediately the trouble began.

Rumors sprouted, told to me by some friends in the restaurant business, that tables had been reserved for Paris Hilton, Ozzy Osborne and Howard Stern.

The show was not open to the public and I had gotten an invite from Robert Fontaine, the gallery director.

Then, I lost it.

I considered fibbing and saying I had never gotten one but I have the honesty gene so this disturbed me.

Luckily, I found it the morning before the event and Fontaine was even so nice as to give me a second invite so I could let an acquaintance in. Each invite brought two people inside.

I got the invite a month early and, as the weeks passed, everyone I knew asked to go with me.

I did some research before the event as I was not that familiar with Manson's work outside of a couple of songs that got radio play. His paintings are riddled with themes of celebrity, notoriety, androgyny, the occult and flowers.

The police had been called to the scene due to rumors of a protest and the streets around Patio de Leon were blocked off. This happens a lot downtown and, since I live there, it becomes rather annoying. My theory is that the numerous senior citizens love to volunteer their time and this makes events easily profitable and gives them something to do in their retirement.

Space 39 started letting in people at 7 p.m. I arrived at 7:40 p.m. and felt the crowd and anticipation thickening. There seemed to be too many people here.

The atmosphere was made tense by multiple, nicely dressed, oversized security guards and by freely distributed liquor.

Where was Marilyn? was the question on everyone's lips.

Charles Runnells, an entertainment writer of The News-Press was there along with aspiring writer and News-Press blogger Kenneth Carl.

Runnells bragged that he had gotten in some trouble with the gallery.

"They weren't going to let me come," Runnells confided.

Runnells had done a writeup that spilled the beans on Manson's.

Oh, wait. I think I saw him. Leaning against the wall and smoking outside the celebrity entrance.

Runnells said that Dayna Harpster, an editor of The News-Press, had spotted him on First Street and called it in to him.

Was that Marilyn? He seemed smaller than I expected.

But then again he was prone to wearing platform boots and I'm sure lots of camera tricks had been pulled on his image's behalf.

I went to take a closer look.

Despite the no camera policy, cameras were fluttering everyone. One stout, middle aged woman had a professional grade SLR digital with a massive lens and was snapping away.

"Hi, I'm CJ, do you know if Marilyn is here?" I asked.

"No," said the shutterbug. "Not yet." She introduced herself as Gigi Hamlett. "I'm the official Manson photographer," she announced.

I smiled, asked for her number and returned to tell the others that it wasn't Manson outside but a shriveled stand-in.

"That guy's really quite small," I said.

Time passed slowly and, as the clock stroked 9 p.m., we were all considering leaving. Finally, at around 5 after, the guards started motioning for room and Manson quickly strode by, taller, white and better dressed than his look alike.

I struggled to get my camera out of my bag and ready to shoot.

By the time it was ready I had missed my chance. Manson moved inside the gallery and I was left outside the doors. The doors were heavily guarded and I had been warned to move away the few times I attempted entry.

I saw Robert Fontaine.

"Hey, can you get me in?" I asked.

The man was harried and barely noticed me.

"Yes, maybe, not now, I'll try," he said, turning to rush off.I

was chagrined. Would I get a quote out of Manson?

The crowd had gotten more unruly and people struggled to get a glimpse of the shock maven and take pictures. I noticed flowers being trampled and wood chips and dirt kicked everywhere.

I thought about leaving. Then, I thought, well the drinks are free. Finally, I decided I would get in the gallery.

I went up to the entrance and noticed there were no guards but that the people near the door were standing patiently, waiting for the go-ahead.

I pulled my notebook out in front of me and, trying to sound official like the Manson photographer, said, "Please, excuse me."

I hopped and skipped through two attendees and entered by the side door.

My adrenalin kicked in and I almost ran into my friend Ryan Hiraki, also of the News-Press.

"Hey, what's going on?" Hiraki asked.

"I've come for a quote," I sputtered.

I looked around. Manson was on the other side of the room.

Cameras were everywhere now and I had some breathing room and, once I took mine out again, I was asked by several people if I could get a shot of them with Manson.

Manson was the master of the room, all eyes fixed on him and his much younger girlfriend.

"I just need a quote," I said. "What do I say to get his attention."

One thing I had enjoyed about Manson was his political commentary in the Michael Moore film "Bowling for Columbine." I thought he'd love to take a stab at the President.

So, when he passed again and leaned forward a bit and asked, "Do you think the President is androgynous."

Manson looked at me and half-chuckled.

"No, not really," he said. "Not nearly enough."

As I wrote down his short response a security person pointed at me and said I was to be escorted from the building.

"Er, ok," I said, not sure what I had done.

Maybe I had offended a Republican? Or was it the camera? Perhaps I had worn the wrong cologne.

I was lead to the door and left with another guard. He was blithely informed to remove me but apparently it didn't sink in. I stood there for a moment, confused.

Finally, I said, "Excuse me, Mr. Guard. But I think you are supposed to throw me out."

"Oh," he said, tiredly.

He followed me as I made my way through the gaping crowd and out into the night. n