Bash Compactor: Glo in the Dark

It was the night of the DayGlo at Kenny Scharf and Scott Ewalt’s Cosmic Cavern party. I was wearing silver lamé and sequins, a red petticoat, a pink tutu and turquoise petti-pants when I stopped to take a picture of the most colorful couple in town, Zazoo and Satori, formerly known as The Club Creatures From Cincinnati, who now regularly go out in elaborately zany costumes. They’d outdone themselves, their faces stained vivid shades of chartreuse, donning yellow, bright outer-space uniforms with matching rackets and catcher’s face guards. Their pal Jeffy’s face was painted orange and yellow with multicolor springs popping out from the top of his head. The fourth member of their posse, Poison Eve, wore a prim white collared dress accented by neon orange lipstick, eye shadow and false lashes. Welcome to the wild and wonderful world of the Williamsburg art party!

The parties Scharf throws in his grotto, decorated with wild phosphorescent objets, transport partygoers into the fifth dimension. Was that acid in the Kool-Aid? Naw. The punch may be spiked, but just with a splash of rum. Pop surrealist Scharf, known for his whimsical cartoon characters, used to run with a formidable triumvirate of pop art: Andy Warhol, Jean- Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring. His playground was The Whitney, where he crafted huge surreal installations. And here he was, a Maestro of pop painting our faces into fantastical masterpieces.

Cosmic Cavern, billed as a “highly illogical outergalactwist hootenanny,” attracts the finest of New York’s artsy set. Like our entertainment for the evening, Darlinda Just Darlinda, who got up and shook those orange tassels until they transported us into the outer hemisphere. This sexpot had obviously been practicing her bump and grinds. Performer Adam Dugas was dressed uncharacteristically in lime green with a giant pair of aviator shapes. Penelope Palmer, a Warhol crowd habitué, danced around on the street, smoking a cigarette and tilting her flower-covered chapeau at all. “Ryan McGinley is here!” painter Naruki Kukita whispered excitedly to me. But after frugging to the campy music and cavorting among the ’toons, our magical mystery tour was winding to a close.

“I’m hungry. Let’s go to Kentucky Fried Chicken,” one of my friends insisted. What a way to crash back to Earth.