“I am for art that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.”

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

Conversation became less lucid as the partygoers surrendered to the beat of the loud music coming from the stereo. They danced the latest steps—the Twist, the Monkey, the Mashed Potato—and ones they made up on the spot. Things got a little out of hand when Patty twirled into an antique spool cabinet and sent an Ed Kienholz sculpture crashing to the floor. Taylor knew it was a good party when the guests had gotten so high they started crawling on the wooden floor, oblivious to the splinters, spilled drinks, and puddles of melted cheese spilling from the platters. Cecil Beaton heard through the grapevine that the evening turned into “a fantastic orgy with people making love on the revolving horses and being photographed for an advanced movie,” but that may have been a bit of an exaggeration. At some point, however, the police did come because the party had become too noisy for even the rowdy crowd at the Santa Monica Pier. In California, in the cool night air, you even felt healthy when you puked.